The Seventy Proof Solution
by Ishie
Summary: or the casebook of Auror Nymphadora Tonks: 1994 to 1995, being a Reprint from the reminiscences of That Auror, youngest member of Magical Law Enforcement, in which Our Heroine Battles dark wizards, Drinks Heavily and Suffers from an Appalling lack of Sex
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Starts at the end of Harry's third year of Hogwarts (_PoA_). Majority takes place during Harry's fourth year of Hogwarts (_GoF_), although you won't see any of that here. It's Tonks' first year as one of Wizarding Britain's finest.  
(And yes, shameless rip-off of the _Very Secret Diaries_ by Cassandra Claire, _Lamentations of a Starry-Eyed Twit_ by She's a Star and _Bridget Jones's Diary_ by Helen Fielding. In fact, you're probably better off reading one of those instead.)  
I played around a bit with Tonks's age. According to my/her back-story, she was born in '71 and started Hogwarts the year after Sirius went to Azkaban. None of which is vitally important, but, well, there you go. No "oh dear, maths" here, by golly! 

**Virtual chocolate frogs** to WiccaRowan for not letting the wankers get the best of her_ and_ for her invaluable beta skills. Grazie!

* * *

T

he Case Book of Auror (Third Class) Nymphadora Tonks  
1994-1995

**25 April 1994  
16:00 **Finished our last training session this morning! I'm an Auror (Third Class) now!

Or, well, I will be once I've completed the Qualifying Trials scheduled for the next three days. Instructor Williamson told me this afternoon that I'd qualified already in Concealment and Disguise, but I should still do the Trial to make up for my "piss-poor performance in Stealth and Tracking". His words, not mine. I would've said "dead-clumsy-and-embarrassing-to-wizardkind attempt at being a graceful witch".

Anyway, Mum got me this notebook so I can keep track of what's going on in my Very Serious Adult Career. Technically it's supposed to be for case notes and questions and investigatory whatnot but since I haven't any cases yet, I'm just going to use it as – well, not a _diary, _because diaries are for little girls. I'm an Adult Witch (not like that) now! I'll be twenty-three in two months. Right, okay, it's a serious professional _journal _for recording observations which may be useful in the course of my work. Yeah.

(Charmed it so I'm the only one who can read it, so no worries about giving away Ministry secrets. **Constant Vigilance!** Heh. That Mad-Eye's nuttier than a fruitcake, but he's got some useful tips.)

(Disguised it, too. I doubt any dark wizards are going to pick up a copy of _The Littlest Crup_… Especially not when it starts warbling nursery rhymes when opened.)

**16:07 **Has Mum been reading _Sherlock Holmes_ again? I think I left _The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes_ there when we got back from that mini-break to Bath. Is that where she got the idea? If so, I'm not sure what she's implying, because it was Dr Watson who kept notes, not Holmes, and if I'm anybody in that pair, it's Holmes.

**16:08 **…

**16:10 **Right?

**28 April 1994  
21:32 **Oh gods, I want to die! I don't even want to write it down here, it's that embarrassing…

**21:35 **Really, it doesn't bear repeating.

**21:38 **Be lucky to scrape by with a Rudimentary in Stealth and Tracking. I'll say no more…

**21:41 **Let's just say, totally hypothetically, of course, that when tracking a suspect, keeping one's diary, er, _case book_ in a pocket that could hypothetically rip open after snagging on a loose nail while one is falling up a flight of stairs, thereby possibly spilling all its contents onto the floor (and I'm just thinking off the top of my head here about things that _could_ happen, not necessarily actual events from any specific person's Qualifying Trials), is probably not a good idea. Hypothetically.

And if one were to, hypothetically, do such a thing, casting a simple _Silencio_ at the object would be the best course of action. Turning seventeen shades of red (both skin and hair) and moaning in humiliation when one's trial partner starts laughing? Not so much, really.

**21:44 **And doing such a thing while partnered with a Really Hot Auror (Second Class) is probably not a good idea either. Especially if one was hoping for an evening of non-clumsy flirting over a celebratory drink. Hypothetically.

**21:56 **Right! Enough sitting around here like some whinging first-year. May as well open that bottle of elderflower wine I picked up at the offie.

**22:22 **Oh gods, what am I going to do if I don't make it into the Auror Corps? I can't go back to the apothecary apprenticeship, I'm completely out of touch with Experimental Charms and I'm only good at basic health and repair spells. Doooooom!

**22:55 **Well bollux to em if they don' wan me. Be bess Auroror ever, I would.

**23:11 **_Hiiickory Diiiiickory Dock! A mousey rang on a clooooock!_

How'm I sposed to get rid of this blasstid Motha Goosey charm?

**29 April 1994  
13:03 **Just woke up. Head gone all poundy. Tongue and teeth wearing miniature fuzzy jumpers.

Never drinking again. Resolve very firm.

**15:29 **How on earth did my wand get all the way up _there_?

**01 May 1994  
07:07 **Bloody owl woke me up. Was tapping on the window when I rolled over. No idea how long it was out there. Jumped out of bed to open the window (completely forgetting I could just wave my wand to do it), legs got all tangled in the covers. Oops. Luckily, the hard, pointy nightstand broke my fall.

Ow.

Bleedin' bird's laughing at me.

**07:10 **_Reparo _really is a right useful spell, eh? Bloody genius whoever came up with that one.

**07:56 **Whoops! Just remembered I never even opened the scrolls.

**07:57 **I GOT IN! I GOT IN! I GOT IN! I GOT IN! I GOT IN! I GOT IN! I GOT IN!

**08:01 **Managed to scrape a Rudimentary in Stealth (thank the gods!). Instructor Williamson added a note to tell me they gave extra credit for "creating an effective diversion" even though I _technically _shouldn't've.

The rest of the marks aren't too shabby either: Excels in Concealment and Disguise (shock), Excels in Emergency Transfiguration, Unobjectionable in Potions (the Potions Mistress was a nasty old bint with wand firmly up bum and who clearly didn't recognize the genius of purifying all antidote bases with a single bezoar), Determined in both Pursuit and Primary Defence. Add those to the three Excels and two Determineds they gave me for the written exams last winter and you're looking at one of Wizarding Britain's newest Aurors!

Second scroll has all the information about my first assignment, when to report to HQ, dress code (bleh), supervisors, holidays, compensation, benefits, blah blah blah. Will read later. (Research: They've addressed me as Auror (Third Class) Nemfedora Tonks. When did they stop using that Aurora term for the witches? It's quite pretty. And who do I talk to about having my first name removed from the rolls entirely?)

I GOT IN! I GOT IN! I GOT IN! I GOT IN! I GOT IN! I GOT IN! I GOT IN!

I'm going to Floo over to Mum and Dad's and invite them out for lunch to celebrate!

**08:03 **Note to self: Always, _always_ Floo-call married couples before visiting. My poor virgin eyes!

**08:04 **Probably a good idea to Floo-call anybody before visiting in the wee hours of the morning.

**08:11 **Okay, so virgin might be overstating the case a little. Okay, a lot. But, really, there are true horrors in life (some of which I may be battling on a daily basis!) and then there's the sight of your _parents_ … doing _that_ … first thing in the morning.

_Shudder_.

**02 May 1994 - 8 days to new job!  
12:30 **In the complete and utter absence of anything resembling an actual case – I don't start work until next Tuesday – or a life, for that matter, I will now lay out for you the Myriad Reasons Why I Like Being a Metamorphmagus:

One: Can't be "banned for life" from any eating, drinking, dancing, or retail establishment if they don't recognize you. Especially helpful after major holidays/drinking sprees.

Two: Virtually no money spent on cosmetics or hair products, aside from the occasional lip rouge or hair gel.

Three: No need for complicated glamours I never got the hang of.

Four: Can match any outfit, location, occasion or person.

Five: Will never have a bad haircut.

Six: No need to diet – can move excess poundage to other areas.

Seven: My shoes always fit.

Eight: Babysitting's a breeze when you can do all the character's voices and faces at bedtime.

Nine: Easy to ditch people I don't like when they don't know what I look like.

Ten: I'm the only one I know.

Eleven: Beats being a Stasismagus. Oho! I kid, I kid.

**12:41 **What the hell would a Stasismagus be able to do? Stay exactly the same? I'm really odd sometimes.

**05 May 1994 - 5 days to new job!  
20:47 **Sophie just Flooed in, crying over something Sebastian said or did or thought. I dunno. Hard to understand through the wailing. I'd be a little more sympathetic if she didn't end up crying all over my hearth every other Tuesday. I know she was my best mate at school, but she brings it on herself. Sebastian's a good bloke, bit dim – he was never any great shakes academically and too many Bludgers to the head really did a number on him. Anyway, when Sophie starts prattling on about … whatever, he gets this glazed look in his eye and starts agreeing to whatever she says. Then she has a dickie fit 'cause he's not listening and he gets confused and they end up hurling hexes and she Floos over here.

Idiots.

**21:30 **She's _still _crying. Maybe we'll just pop round the pub to cheer her up.

No drinking, though. Resolve still very firm.

**06 May 1994 - 4 days to new job!  
02:45 **On'y hadda lil bit of Far… Fahrwiss… Ogden's. Sebashion's a twat. Sophie bessever. She hexed Arsy Face! Bessfren ever!

**14:08 **Oh my head hurts…

**14:10 **Should probably explain Arsy Face. The whole night's a bit of a blur, but I remember getting in some non-clumsy flirting and snogging with a cutish bloke in the pub. All going quite swimmingly (Research: is a tongue like that entirely human?) until he asked me to "change 'em".

Yeah. _Them_.

Arse. Not mine. He. Is one. What?

Why is it that any time a guy finds out I'm a Metamorph, the first thing he wants is for me to change is my chest? Why not poutier lips or a rounder bum or slimmer hips? Oi! Show a little ingenuity!

And why would I be inflating my chest in the middle of a crowded pub on a Thursday night for some thin-haired, pot-belly-growing, SO NOT CUTE ANYMORE _git_?

What's the big deal about breasts anyway? It's not like they're these mystical objects that can only be glimpsed once in a blue moon when the planets are correctly aligned and you've already sacrificed a small goat. Well, okay, so there's a little bit of ceremony involved, but still! Every witch has 'em, most wizards do too once they stop trying to impress the single witches with their manly physique. Hell, pop into the Three Broomsticks on any given night and Rosmerta's got hers nearly on full display!

Whatever. Done drinking. Done chatting up NOT CUTE Arsy Faces in random pubs.

**15:32 **Maybe we could start going to Muggle pubs where I can't even mention that I'm a Metamorph?

**17:55 **It's a good thing for Mr Darcy Pendergast (aka Arsy Face) that I am a Serious Professional who would not dream of abusing my future authority by putting his name down on any to-be-investigated lists.

**17:56 **Ripped up the anonymous Muggle-baiting complaint. See? Professional!

**08 May 1994 - 2 days to new job!  
11:21 **Dad and I are going shopping in Muggle London today. He wants to pick up some children's books about magic (something about an article for some academic journal. I dunno. Accidentally caught my hair in a drawer while he was talking and missed the middle part.) and I need to get some Muggle clothes to wear under my robes at work. Never know where you might end up!

**19:42 **I am officially doing all my shopping in Muggle London from now on. We found this Oxfam charity shop near Dad's favourite bookstore that had clothes from practically every decade. It was great! Best part was I forgot to change t-shirts before I went (1989 Weird Sisters World Tour!) and it didn't matter! Nobody even gives me a second look in Muggle society; the hair and the clothes blend right in. Love that.

Maybe I should have gone into Muggle Relations?

Anyway, I was sifting through the racks at Oxfam, looking for anything vaguely resembling a businessy type outfit, while Dad was looking at a carton full of spats. (Research: why is it that all the older wizards I know are so obsessed with spats? Muggles don't even wear them anymore! Even Dad, who's Muggle-born himself, can't resist buying them.) Found some dowdy skirts and trousers and jumpers and button-front blouses that weren't too awful. Picked up a couple of vintage slogan t-shirts, too: Make Love Not War, Choice of a New Generation and a God Save the Sex Pistols tour shirt. Was crowing (not literally) over prime Punk find when I saw _It_.

Oh gods above, it was beautiful. Gorgeous ivory brocade, cut like a Malkin dress robe I saw Celestina Warbeck wearing once, tiny little brocade-covered buttons from neckline to hemline, just the slightest bit of lace at the cuffs and décolletage... Sweet fancy _Merlin_, I think I started drooling. They had it hanging over the till counter, like some sort of beacon for unmarried women. If I hadn't known that we were in an all-Muggle area, I would've thought they'd put a Luminesce charm on it.

Let's get one thing straight first: I am not some silly fluffy girl. Sure, I like to wear my hair pink sometimes, but that's because I like the colour _and _it makes the old biddies nervous. I'd rather have a pint and a game of darts than flit around some frilly garden party. You won't catch me wearing a skirt unless I have to for work or some ritzy occasion. My idea of fancy dress is a pair of trousers and one of Dad's tweed coats and calling myself Sherlock. I'm a Modern Witch who isn't going to quit my job to raise a bunch of sprogs and I don't spend a whole lot of time thinking about finding a bloke and getting married. Well, I don't think about it more than anything else I think about. Maybe I think about it once or twice a day, what of it? That's normal. What? I lost my train of thought...

Anyway, not a girly-girl, not a dress-wearer, not a delicate princess dreaming of being swept off her feet. Oh, but this gown made me want to be all those things. I don't put much stock in Divination or Seeing, really, but I swear I had a vision, right there in the middle of that charity shop.

I was standing outside, in pale autumn sunlight. I could smell wet leaves and smoke from a fire. Dad had my arm tucked in his, his hand on mine. Mum was standing nearby, all teary-eyed. I looked down and saw my regular, unMorphed hair against the creamy ivory fabric of the charity shop gown. Felt like I was in my too-plump, unMorphed body, too. I took a step forward, looked up and...

Promptly tripped over a footstool in that dingy Oxfam shop. Weird. Not the footstool, the vision. Never mind.

Dad and I went to eat at a kitschy chain restaurant after. Didn't mention the vision (Mum and Dad both get a little tetchy about Divination and prophecies and such) and had a pretty good meal (only knocked over my beer three times).

So, good day, lots of new clothes for work, Dad got his books - which were pretty funny: teenaged boys riding unicorns all over the place.

Won't think about that vision anymore. Probably just a fragment of an indigestion-induced dream or something.

**20:59 **Was a gorgeous gown, though.

**21:00 **Start new job in 36 hours! Yay!

**09 May 1994 - New job tomorrow!  
13:42 **Took Sophie to that kitschy restaurant for lunch. She got into it with Sebastian again this morning, sobbed all over my hearth around midday. Ugh. She seemed to like the place, even if she did keep trying to order Gillywater.

Spent the rest of the afternoon running errands and getting things together for my first day. Tomorrow! Tomorrow's my first day!

**21:15 **andIboughtthatgown

**21:16 **...

**21:17 **Oh, like you didn't know I would.

**21:29 **This ... really isn't supposed to be a diary, you know. Serious Professional Adult Career type stuff and all that.

**23:59 **FIRST DAY TOMORROW!

Think I'll go with the spiky black hair for a more adult look. Yes. Good idea.

* * *

**tbc … **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer (forgot it last time!): **Ms Rowling is my hero. Anything you recognize belongs to her, even if I have taken a few liberties... She seems a good sport, though, doesn't she?

**A/N: **Starts at the end of Harry's third year of Hogwarts (_PoA_). Majority takes place during Harry's fourth year of Hogwarts (_GoF_), although you won't see any of that here. It's Tonks' first year as one of Wizarding Britain's finest.  
(And yes, shameless rip-off of the _Very Secret Diaries_ by Cassandra Claire, _Lamentations of a Starry-Eyed Twit_ by She's a Star and _Bridget Jones's Diary_ by Helen Fielding. In fact, you're probably better off reading one of those instead.)  
I played around a bit with Tonks's age. According to my/her backstory, she was born in '71 and started Hogwarts the year after Sirius went to Azkaban. None of which is vitally important, but, well, there you go. No "oh dear, maths" here, by golly!

**Virtual chocolate frogs** to WiccaRowan for not letting the wankers get the best of her_ and_ for her invaluable beta skills. Grazie!

* * *

The Case Book of Nymphadora Tonks  
1994-1995

**10 May 1994 – First Day at Work!  
06:27 **What in the name of all that is magical and right in the world am I doing up this early? What's that horrible noise? Oh. Right. Alarm clock.

**06:28** OH MY GOD, I'M AN AUROR!

**07:11 **!

**08:04 **This is going to be the best day ever. I have appropriate clothes, my hair is a respectable shade of black and not too out-of-control, and I'm twenty minutes ahead of schedule, which means I can pop into the Leaky Cauldron on the way and pick up something for lunch.

I didn't even spill my tea this morning! Best. Day. EVER!

**18:13 **It was, without a doubt, the most miserable day of my entire sodding existence. I don't even want to think about it.

**18:19 **Suffice it to say, black hair? Worst. Idea. Ever.

**18:26 **Okay, riding into the Ministry on the back of a cave troll waving the bloody head of Celestina Warbeck and an enchanted, singing Muggle tea kettle while eating a baby (I'd be the one eating it, not the troll) would have been worse. But not by much…

How could I have been so stupid? Second most wanted wizard in Britain on the loose and I stroll into the heart of Magical Justice looking like a rounder, female version of him.

They say you can always tell a Black: their hair's as dark as their hearts. (Except for Narcissa, who somehow - wink wink nudge nudge - ended up with platinum blond hair and two ebony-haired parents.) I don't really think much about being a Black. I'm a Tonks, through and through. I've got Dad's eyes and hair, Grammy Tonks's figure and when I'm unMorphed, I bear a striking resemblance to Auntie Barb. I've never tortured a house elf, never collected virgin's blood by the light of a crescent moon, never hunted a werewolf or done any of the other things my _illustrious_ relations are reported to have done.

Morphed, though, that's a different story. The heart-shaped face I usually wear is my own, just like Mum and forty-seven other generations of Black witches. My lips are Black, my cheekbones are Black. So when my hair is black, I look like I dropped straight down off the family tree (which, rumour has it, Mum was magically blasted off thirty seconds after saying "I do"), hitting every evil, twisted branch along the way.

I don't really remember Sirius that well, but from what I _do _remember, he was good for a laugh. He was Mum's favorite cousin and didn't mind me hanging all over him, but we didn't see each other all that much. He was a decade older and busy with his friends and life and we were busy not making targets of ourselves. And by we, I mean Mum and Dad. I was mostly busy trying to not scrape all the skin off my knobby knees.

He came round now and again, sometimes by himself, sometimes with a few mates. He brought two of them to my tenth birthday party; I've never been able to throw the picture away. I should have. As much as I liked my cousin, what he did was unforgivable and I wish he'd rotted in that stinking prison.

How can someone betray and murder the people they claim to love most in the world?

I guess he did do me one favour. He's the reason I'm an Auror now. I want to make sure bastards like him get what they deserve. His best friends! A baby, for the love of Nimue! A _baby._

Sorry. Wandering off the point a bit.

Anyway, this being my first day and all, I spent most of the day in a tiny little cubicle, filling out personnel scrolls. The witch in charge of personnel (who'd better _pray_ she's never trapped in a dark place with me) kept making all these snide little comments about "blood will out" and how you always know a person once you know their family. It's nothing I haven't heard before and usually I've got a few snide comments of my own. Or hexes. Whichever, I'm not picky. But, since it was my first day at a new job, I bit down on my tongue until it bled, smiling some vapid smile at her when I really wanted to claw her eyes out and feed them to her.

Lunch was the best part of the day. Sophie surprised me at the Fountain in the lobby, along with some of our other friends from school: Gwyn, Bertram and Hex. (Hex just completed his Justice apprenticeship and started clerking for Amelia Bones. Lucky bastard.) We transfigured our robes into blankets (Bertram forgot he wasn't wearing Muggle clothes underneath and had to nip home for a bit) and had a celebratory picnic in a little park near to the Ministry. Was fun. Must get together with that lot more often. It's so easy to be happy around them.

After lunch, the day got worse. I was pulled aside at Wand Registration for a "random security check," every single person I passed gave me a double- or triple-take before they started whispering behind their hands and Kingsley _Bloody_ Shacklebolt pulled me into an office to interrogate me about my loyalties. He's the Auror in charge of the manhunt for Sirius. Apparently they got some anonymous tip that someone he knew from Before is helping him get in and out of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts.

Right, yeah, that'd be me: newly minted Auror and fugitive harbourer. How sodding _brilliant_ of them all to see the black hair and the Black face and tell at a glance that I'm as rotten to the core as he is.

Arseholes, the lot of 'em. I've half a mind to not go back to work tomorrow.

**20:13 **Of course, if I don't go back they'll just nod gravely at each other and say, "We were right. Just another Black."

**20:15 **BUGGER IT ALL!

**21:21 **Gods above, I hate when people make me cry.

**21:24 **Good news is I didn't fall down or break anything all day. So there is that.

**21:28 **I wonder if Mum's still up. She'll understand. She's had to deal with it her whole life.

**23:37 **Have best Mum in world, feel loads better. Will record our conversation tomorrow. Now must sleep so I can go back to that wretched place tomorrow. Joy.

**11 May 1994  
08:01 **Decided to Muggle it into work today instead of Flooing so I would have time to write down what Mum said last night. I guess I could've just used the built-in Vox recording charm, but somehow actually writing out the words makes me feel a little better.

Nearly forgot to transfigure my quill into a pen. That'd be brilliant, getting a reprimand for Secrecy on my second day as an Auror.

**08:10 **Not like it would've made much difference if I _were_ writing with a quill. There's a bloke on the train right now who's ranting about the undead eating everyone's brains. He's obviously cracked. Everybody knows that the undead prefer festering vegetation.

So, obviously, Mum was still up when I went over last night. Dad was working on something in his office and Mum was sitting in the kitchen in her dressing gown, listening to a Floo-in show on the Wireless. Took one look at me and my still-black hair and knew exactly what was wrong. Held her arms out and I did this weird snuffly sob/laugh thing and threw myself at her. Once we cleaned up the tea service I knocked to the floor, she gave me a big hug and started fussing like she does when I get sick.

Quite miss that actually, now that I've moved out.

And that rhubarb crumble she makes. Never did get the hang of that crust.

Hmm, now I'm really hungry. Forgot to have breakfast this morning. Oooh! This station's got Cadbury dispensers!

**08:14 **Never will understand why chocolate isn't considered a breakfast food. Isn't it an _anytime, all the time_ kind of delicacy?

(Oh, bugger it. Just glanced up at the map and realized I got back on the wrong line! Let's see... I'm on the brown squiggly line and I need to… Right. Change to yellow and green line at Embankment. (Research: did the Underground planners mean to set up the lines in the shape of a bottle? Looks like a clever advert for some kind of alcohol.))

So, Mum made us up a fresh pot. We are British, after all. Tea solves most any problems. She asked what was wrong, what happened at work? Next thing I knew, I was kneeling next to her chair, choking out the story between sobs while she stroked the hair back from my face.

She grumbled a bit when I repeated the personnel witch's comments, but mostly made soft shushing noises and sympathetic clicks. When I was done, she kissed my forehead and told me not to worry. Funny thing is, when she did that, I felt loads better. I don't know if it was because I'd gotten out all my anger and bitterness, or if there really is magic in a mother's kiss, like in those books she used to read me at bedtime.

Started to feel a bit silly, hanging in her lap like an overgrown child, and said so, but she just laughed at me and wiped my cheeks with a soft hand.

"That's what mums are made for," she said and pushed me away, laughing again.

I went to wash my face and say hi to Dad. When I came back to the kitchen, she'd cleared away the tea things and was sitting at the table with a photo album in front of her.

"This," she said, "is what Blacks are made of," and she opened the album.

**08:23 **(It really is amazing how well this whole Tube system works without magic! The trains are as regular as moon phases and everything seems so orderly.)

The album Mum had out wasn't one I had seen before. She keeps pictures of her sisters and Sirius and Regulus in a shiny red dragonskin album on a bookshelf in her bedroom. I used to page through it when I was little, practicing the faces and hairstyles on rainy days. This one was much older, covered in some tough black fabric shot through with golden filaments. There were cracks in the binding and some of the pictures were starting to peel from the pages. Most of the pages were labelled in shaky, spidery black writing that had hardly faded at all.

The strangest thing was that I didn't recognize hardly any of the people waving at us from the pages. Sure, they all looked vaguely alike, in a haughty, aristocratic way. Occasionally, I saw a name or a face I knew but that didn't happen more than a handful of times.

Mum explained that this was the only item she took from her parents' house the night she ran away with Dad. She called it her "wake-up call".

See, I've never met most of Mum's family. Narcissa and Bellatrix (I refuse to call them Aunt) came calling once or twice when I was very small, always while Dad was away. Regulus stopped showing up for birthdays after he got into an argument with Dad the year I turned eight. He was killed not long after that. Sirius came over whenever he was home from Hogwarts and could sneak out of his house, which wasn't often. They were the only ones I ever met properly.

The rest of the family, well, I learned about them at Hogwarts. Mum refused to even speak her parents' names at home and I was awfully curious, so I looked them up in the library. I almost wish I hadn't. I had nightmares for months, mostly about being kidnapped by some demented relative and forced to become a _proper_ Black. And what I didn't read on my own, I found out from other students. Not a fun time, really. You try being the only Metamorphmagus, an estranged member of a notoriously Dark family and clumsy to boot.

Anyway, the people in this album… For one thing, they were almost all _smiling_, which can be downright chilling on a Black. No severed house-elf heads, no scary dark artefacts, just normal-looking (for Pureblood wizards, anyway) people.

Mum explained that this was a chronicle of the Blacks who got away, in a sense. The ones who thought for themselves instead of blindly following centuries of tradition. In short, the other Blacks who got blasted off the family tree.

The last picture in the album was of Uncle Alphard Black and his wife, Adelaide. He had his arm slung around her shoulders and they were both beaming out at us. Mum sniffled a little and laid her hand on the page, fingertips resting on their names. Uncle Alphard helped out when Mum and Dad were first married, she told me. He gave them enough gold to buy their first cottage outside Hogsmeade, the one where I was born.

We watched as Uncle Ally (as Mum kept calling him) kissed Adelaide and she swatted his shoulder. Mum traced their outlines one last time and closed the book, sliding it over in front of me.

"Remember _them_, Nymphadora, whenever anyone gives you grief about your family," she said fiercely, tapping the cover for emphasis. "_They_ are the only Blacks who matter to us."

Told you I had a great mum.

**08:49 **Oh! This is my station. Time for my grand entrance: Black face, black hair and wand at the ready. Anybody who doesn't like it can get stuffed.

**11:17 **My, my, how _very_ irresponsible of me to _accidentally_ stumble on a loose tile on my way into the personnel witch's cubicle. While carrying a _giant_ mug of blackberry tea which _somehow_ ended up all over said witch's _powder-blue_ robes. Shame, really.

**11:19** Heh.

* * *

**A/N, part the second: **Just my little version of a love letter to the best transportation system in the world, even if it is entirely too hot down there in summer. (Bear in mind, though, Tonks doesn't ride the Tube everyday so everything is always shiny and good for her.) And to mums. They roxors!**  
**

**Special thanks **to _my_ best mum in the world for replacing my ragged London Underground tee and thereby ensuring I got at least one geographical detail correct! And to Transport for London (journeyplanner.tfl.gov.uk) for helping with the travel times. Cheers!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Starts at the end of Harry's third year of Hogwarts (_PoA_). Majority takes place during Harry's fourth year of Hogwarts (_GoF_), although you won't see any of that here. It's Tonks' first year as one of Wizarding Britain's finest.  
(And yes, shameless rip-off of the _Very Secret Diaries_ by Cassandra Claire, _Lamentations of a Starry-Eyed Twit_ by She's a Star and _Bridget Jones's Diary_ by Helen Fielding. In fact, you're probably better off reading one of those instead.)  
I played around a bit with Tonks's age. According to my/her back-story, she was born in '71 and started Hogwarts the year after Sirius went to Azkaban. None of which is vitally important, but, well, there you go. No "oh dear, maths" here, by golly!

**Virtual chocolate frogs** to WiccaRowan for reminding me of the law of Karma_ and_ for her invaluable beta skills. Grazie!

* * *

The Case Book of Auror (Third Class) Nymphadora Tonks  
1994-1995

**14 May 1994  
13:12 **Soooo tired. Today is first day off after first week at Ministry. Well, technically, I don't have the day totally free and clear: rookies are required to be on call during days off. I'm fairly sure they didn't mention _that_ in training.

First week ended up not being a total loss, after that perfectly wretched start. Because of my "close familial association" with "person(s) currently evading capture", I've been assigned to Protection Detail with Auror Savage instead of field duty. Which means that instead of fighting dangerous dark wizards (and witches!) in dank alleyways, I'll be hobnobbing with celebrities and dignitaries. Well, not so much hobnobbing as standing menacingly in the background. Or just standing quietly with an air of mystery at any rate, as I'm not sure I'm up to menacing yet. Wonder if I can Morph a chunk out of my nose like Mad Eye's?

(And I'm still waiting for an answer as to why, after undergoing biannual character tests and a three month long background check during training, they don't seem to trust me any farther than I could throw Minister Fudge. Not that I _would_ throw Minister Fudge. Although I would have dearly liked to hex him when he started making noises about a Metamorphmagus Registry. Tosser.)

It's not so bad, so far. Savage showed me round Level Two, introduced me to some of the other Aurors and gave me about six tonnes of files I need to memorize. I always did like doing research. We don't have any cases assigned to us until next week, so Savage left me to my reading while he "did paperwork". Apparently, that's Auror code for napping in one's cubicle, because every time I needed to ask him a question, that's what he was doing. (Note to self: find out which Charm he's using to give the appearance of being awake. Dead useful, that. I thought at first that he was just ignoring my questions, until I realized he was actually snoring.)

The days seem pretty routine. We have a departmental briefing every morning at precisely 09:17. I know Scrimgeour's a stickler for protocol, but that's just plain weird. I wonder – does that time hold a special significance? Briefing usually lasts between forty-five and sixty minutes; each team brings the rest of the department up to speed on their current cases, Scrimgeour gives out our assignments, someone makes a few-off colour jokes, Shacklebolt gives us The Sirius Report, I ignore the stares and we're done.

(That reminds me - must remember to tell Jaya the one about Helga Hufflepuff, the unicorn and the barrel of civet oil. Priceless!)

After the briefing, Savage grills me on my reading, quizzes me on the more obscure security regulations we're to follow, steals my tea and leaves me to my stacks of files.

I think I'm going to like this job…

**17:44 **… if my eyes don't fall out first!

Photios Kephalas, the Greek Minister of Magic, is bringing a delegation to London next week and yours truly has been charged with protecting the family! Well, not by myself, of course. Savage and I will be working with another British team (Lobelia Vong and Matthew Paster) as well as our Greek counterparts, but _first_, I have to familiarize myself with the family's history, Kephalas's known and suspected enemies and the current political climate in Athens.

Cor, and I thought History of Magic with Binns was boring.

The records clerks at the Ministry are about two hundred years behind on their filing, so I had to personally pull every file from the archives, no matter how tangentially connected. Once I'd done that, I then had to skim through each of them to find the ones that actually relate to the information we received from the Greek Ministry. Only took me two full days.

Now, even though I'm off the clock and at home, I have to review the rest of the files and prepare a dossier for Savage to review at the Monday briefing. If I'm lucky, I should have it done by 09:15 Monday morning. Argh.

**15 May 1994  
20:19 **Dossier is finished! Yay!

**16 May 1994  
11:07 **Gods, I'm nervous.

Briefing went well: Savage complimented me on the information I gathered, but I'm not sure that's such a good thing. Have a funny feeling I'm going to see far more of the archives than is healthy in the next few months.

The Greek delegation is due in by portkey any moment now. There's a reception for them down on Level Five, after which the politicians will go behind closed doors and the family will be in our hands.

Aaagh!

**22 May 1994  
23:33 **I AM NEVER HAVING ANY BLOODY CHILDREN!

I will be perfectly content playing Auntie Tonks to all my friends' spawn for the rest of my life, provided I _never_ have to go through another week like this one again.

I have, at last count: thirteen bruises on my shins and thighs from the thrashing fists of Mr Costas Kephalas, aged seven; one fractured rib sustained while "rescuing" the world's most ill-behaved half-Kneazle; and a constant ringing in my ears from the high-pitched squeals of the Misses Kephalas, aged thirteen and fifteen.

Next time we're given a choice of protectees? Savage had better opt for tagging along with the adults, or he's going to be on the receiving end of some _very _nasty hexes.

The good news is we don't have to report back for work until Thursday. I'm just going to sleep for the next 36 hours. Bliss.

**24 May 1994  
15:21 **Lobelia Vong just owled to see if I'd like to meet her and some friends at the Leaky Cauldron tonight. Have already sent a reply saying I'd love to. Would be nice to have mates in the Department. Lobelia's only a few years older than me and we got on quite well during our assignment. Should be fun!

**21:10 **Probably _would_ have been fun if Lobelia hadn't shown up with her boyfriend, Mr Darcy Pendergast, aka Arsy Face. Or, as I shall start calling him: Arsy Faced Balding Scuzzbucket the First.

Luckily, when Sophie and I went out that night, I had Morphed into what I like to call Town Tonks: hair like the cellist from the Weird Sisters (only, you know, girl-style), face a cross between my true look and the cover model from the October 1984 _Witch Weekly_ (the epitome of beauty to my pubescent self), and my real body. What? Like you wouldn't do it too! It's not like I'm out looking for Mr Right at the pubs, so a little … enhancement is perfectly legal. My putting on a different face is like any other witch wearing makeup or padding out her chest.

But that's not the point. The point is that he didn't recognise me and I had to spend an evening with Arsy Faced Balding Scuzzbucket the First in which I had to watch his girlfriend, my new colleague, fawn all over him while he sat there playing the good boyfriend.

Arse.

I almost wish he _had_ recognised me or tried to hit on me or something so I could make a huge scene. As it was, I couldn't even enjoy my Bottomless Brew!

I don't know Lobelia well enough to know how she'll take it if I tell her. But how can I not tell her? Her boyfriend's a total scumbag!

**21:49 **Jaya just Floo-called to ask if I was coming to lunch at her parents' house on Sunday. As if I'm going to pass up free vindaloo and flirting with her cousins.

She also had an idea for the Operation Arsy Face (OAF! Hah! ... I really think I need a hobby). Since he obviously didn't recognise me, I'm perfectly safe to gossip with Lobelia about a "friend" of mine who snogged a complete stranger who turned out to have a girlfriend. If I manage to drop heavy enough hints, maybe she'll pick up on it. And if she doesn't, I can at least feel her out about the whole "boyfriend cheating on girlfriend" scenario.

**22:07 **I wonder if mentioning that thing he did with his tongue would be enough. Was fairly remarkable.

**22:31 **I _could _just delicately ask about the hex scar on Balding's chin and casually mention that it looks like one my best friend put on her boyfriend that time she caught him in the broom cupboard with… Nah. Too complicated.

**26 May 1994  
09:13 **Only have a few minutes before the briefing. Savage caught me on my way in this morning to tell me we have a new assignment already. Celestina Warbeck's doing some charity function on Saturday night and Minister Fudge has volunteered our services. Seems he heard good things from the Greek Minister's family. How that's possible, I really don't know, considering I spent most of the week daydreaming about shutting the boy up in a wardrobe.

**09:14 **For the record, the Ministry really should look into replacing the furniture in the guest quarters. Do you know, there's not a decent-sized wardrobe in the place! How on earth are visiting dignitaries supposed to hang up all their various robes of state? Shameful.

Also, Celestina _Warbeck_? I'll be lucky if I don't vomit all over the place. I can't stand her caterwauling.

**29 May 1994  
04:02 **Just got in from duty. Party was as awful as I suspected. Celestina sang (if you can call it that) for more than an hour. Ugh. Pity we aren't allowed to drink while working.

Bright spot of evening was having a chat with Lobelia before we left Headquarters. Seems she's not as oblivious as I thought.

Oh gods, I'm knackered. Must go to bed now; have to be at the Choudhuri's in eight hours.

**04:04** I hope Jaya's cousin Nikhil is going to be there. He's _gorgeous_. And not in any way averse to flirting with shapeshifting Anglos over a platter of lemon rice. Hurrah!

**18:30 **Nikhil was not there. Seems he's gone to visit _his_ _betrothed_ in India. Woe!

Jaya owes me many drinks for failing to tell me that my future husband was marrying someone else.

Mrs Choudhuri wouldn't let me leave without taking some of the leftovers, though. Okay, most of the leftovers. And her grammy read my palm and predicted a Grand Romance in my future, so despite crushing blow of recent fantasy-destroying doom, today was still splendid.

**18:36 **Jaya owes me many, _many _drinks. Nikhil's like something out of one of those Bollywood films her grammy is always going into Muggle London to see. How could she have forgotten to tell me that he's getting _married_? She obviously needs to _seriously_ rethink her priorities. And, by her priorities, I mean mine. Because snogging Nikhil was right up at the top for the last five years.

**18:41 **I think getting her mother's recipe for this sabzi kurma might lessen the blow a smidgen. If all vegetables tasted this good, no one would eat meat ever again.

**23:17 **Oh, bollocks. I've just realized I forgot to launder my suitably dowdy work clothes.

**23:21 **Surely no one will notice if I dress down just this once?

**23:24 **What am I thinking? They're _Aurors_. They notice everything.

**02 June 1994 – Birthday in Ten Days!  
13:07 **Have I mentioned how very much I adore the Ministry archives? No? Didn't mention the pounds of dust coating every surface? The romantic, dungeon-like atmosphere? The complete and utter lack of anything resembling any sort of organizational scheme beyond "Just Put That Over There, No, _There_, Under the Gigantic Cobwebs"?

**14:31 **Savage is going to owe me big-time for this. Have been down here for almost three hours and I swear to Merlin a spider the size of my head just ran across my foot. Shudder.

**14:52 **I'm thinking a giant chocolate-cherry-banana sundae from Fortescue's should even us up. With whipped cream. And sprinkles. Maybe some fudge sauce?

Next time I have to do research, I'm packing a lunch.

**15:27 **What was that noise?

**16:10 **I think that spider is watching me. Oh gods! It's probably an acromantula! It's lurking in the shadows, waiting for me to be distracted so it can spin me up in silk and devour me slowly and painfully! No one will ever find my desiccated corpse in all these files! I'm doomed for all eternity to be surrounded by parchments no sane person will ever read! Doomed!

**16:12 **I haven't even been to Italy. I can't die before I go to Italy! I want to walk along the aqueducts and soak up the sunshine and drink insane amounts of wine and have torrid affairs with handsome Italian wizards who don't understand a single word I say. Or handsome, non-English-speaking Muggles. Whichever, I'm not picky.

**16:15 **What was _that?_

**16:18 **Right. That's it. I'm out of here. I've enough files to last me the rest of the week and …

**16:19 **Oh holy mother of Merlin, it RAN RIGHT UP MY LEG! EURGH!

I looked right in its gigantic … eye … _cluster_ and I know I saw evil. Pure unadulterated EVIL.

**16:21 **There may possibly have been some eye bogeys as well but I'm not sure as I was too busy _shrieking_ and trying to NOT BE EATEN!

**16:22 **(Research: Do spiders even get eye bogies? Do they have tear ducts?)

**17:03 **So, apparently, there's a Sorting charm we can use in the archives to bring relevant files directly to our cubicles.

Ha. Ha. _Ha_. Bloody laugh riot.

Everyone just fell about the place laughing when I came hurtling into the office, shrieking about acromantulas, and crashed into a hat stand. I can still hear Savage snorting with demonic glee.

**17:10 **_Wankers_.

**05 June 1994 – Birthday in Seven Days!  
19:17 **Hurrah! Have three days off in a row!

Savage is on holiday until the ninth and no one else in the department is partner-less right now, so I've been cut from the roster for the next few days. I have to be on-call for the next thirty-six hours, but after that, I am free!

Have already owled Sophie and Sebastian, Hex, Jaya, and Gwyn and Bertram for a celebratory mini-break/early birthday party at the Hog's Head Friday night where I plan to get thoroughly drunk and NOT snog any arsy-faced scumbags.

**21:02 **Hope I don't get called in to work. Haven't done any dishes or laundry in more than a week. It's very scary in here. And, considering how talented I am with the householdy charms, that's _really_ not a good situation.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Ms Rowling is my hero. Anything you recognize belongs to her, even if I have taken a few liberties... She seems a good sport, though, doesn't she?

**A/N: **Be patient, dear readers! I promise you that a certain highly anticipated character will make his debut soon, but Tonks has rather a lot going on right now. Well, that and I delight in drawing out the suspense. Muahahahah!

A huge _thank you_ goes out to all the reviewers as well. You guys rock (especially when you're pointing out something I've bollocksed up so I can fix it)!

**Virtual chocolate frogs** to WiccaRowan for not letting the wankers get the best of her_ and_ for her invaluable beta skills. Congratulations on your recent bombshell!

* * *

The Case Book of Auror (Third Class) Nymphadora Tonks  
1994-1995

**06 June 1994 – Birthday in Six Days!  
10:13 **Was just banishing some of the accumulated rubbish from around the flat when I happened to glance at yesterday's _Daily Prophet_. It's a full moon tonight, which means I stand a good chance of getting called in. (What is it about a full moon anyway? And don't say 'werewolves'; I'm not that thick. I mean the non-infected. Why do people seem to go mad during the full moon?)

Am halfway tempted to say sod it and just leave the flat the way it is. I don't want to be in the middle of chores and have to leave suddenly...

All right, I'm lying. I just don't want to clean anything.

Also, it looks like the bass player from the Weird Sisters is getting married. Again. You know what they say: fifth time's the charm!

**10:25 **Oh, so _that's_ where I left the last samosa.

…ew.

Gods, I'm disgusting.

**11:21 **Finally, the flat begins to resemble an actual human dwelling instead of the lair of a cave-troll! Have charmed the dishes to wash themselves while I nip out for some groceries. Hmm, Demeter's or Sainsbury's? Sainsbury's is just round the corner (and much less expensive), but Demeter's will have Mrs Skower's and I'm running low on Toothflossing Stringmints. Plus, they have eighteen different varieties of fresh breads and the best selection of farmhouse cheeses.

And I can apparate directly there and back instead of having to lug my groceries three blocks. What? So I'm lazy...

Should probably stop in Fortescue's for a wee sundae. Wouldn't want the poor man to think I've abandoned him now that I'm gainfully employed.

**12:07 **Right. In future, should probably avoid leaving the flat while dishes are self-washing. Came home to a very poor imitation of the Hogwarts lake in my kitchen. Scrubber and dish soap have buggered off to Merlin knows where.

**13:43 **Oh, sweet Circe!

I've been trying to read this novel I picked up at Demeter's. It's one of those maudlin heroic-Pureblood-wizard-rescues-daft-Muggle-woman-who-accidentally-wandered-into-Mortal-Danger-and-they-shag-like-crazed-weasels tragic romance novels. It's not _too_ badly written but every time the "hero" starts whinging about his family I want to smack him. Plus, I can't stop giggling at the love scenes. Why are women's bosoms always heaving? Are they having respiratory problems? Is this all just badly-disguised kinky illness smut?

Hmm. I do like the coverwitch's hairstyle though. Maybe I'll practise that one for a bit.

**16:14 **You know, there's one thing I really hate about having the day off work.

I'm so _bored_. All my friends are at their own jobs right now or I'd go bother them. (They're so _crabby_ about being interrupted during the workday. Bertram said if I owled him one more time, he'd volunteer me for babysitting duty. Shudder.) I've cleaned everything I'm willing to clean. Caught up on all my correspondence (nearly forgot Grammy Tonks's birthday!), changed the sheets on my bed, washed every dirty piece of clothing I have and bought enough groceries to feed me through the weekend, at the very least.

I even repaired that stack of dishes that's been sitting in the kitchen for months.

Right now, I'm just lying in bed and counting the cracks in the ceiling. Like I haven't done _that_ a million times before.

Maybe I should take a nap? If I get called in tonight, I don't want to be nodding off at the wrong moment. Or any moment, really.

**16:21 **There are 37 cracks in the ceiling, by the way. Including a group of ten or so above the door which looks like a very realistic dragon. If I close both eyes in sequence, it almost looks like it's flying. Cool.

**16:55 **Erm, I was just hanging up the last of my laundry when I realized I haven't tried on that Muggle gown yet.

Not sure if I really want to. It's a beautiful dress, sure, but I'm still a little leery of that vision.

**17:02 **It probably won't fit my unMorphed body anyway. And I'm certainly not going to change to fit it.

**17:18 **...

**17:36** All right, fine, I'll just try it on so I know if I should chuck it or not.

**17:41 **It's… Gods!

I'm actually speechless right now. Or as close to speechless as I can get, anyway.

This thing fits like it was made for me! It's even the proper length! And not a bit of magic in it!

I've relaxed everything to normal and I'm just flabbergasted by what I see in the mirror. (The mirror appears to be speechless as well, although I'm fairly sure I heard a teary sniffle.) The colour of the brocade makes my skin glow and even my hair doesn't look as drab as normal.

Wicked.

**17:55 **Not that I'm putting any stock in that vision. Seeing's not exactly the most reliable discipline.

**17:57 **Was probably indigestion.

**18:20 **Okay, nap time! No more mooning about in front of the mirror. I'll just set my wand to ring if I'm called in and lie down with that big fat copy of _Goblin Rebellions 1412-1422 - Ten Years, One Hundred Wars _I never returned to the Hogwarts library. Am yawning already.

**20:25 **Nap very, _very_ bad idea. Nasty dream. I can't really make heads or tails of it and my wand is going off, so I'm just going to put it in here with the modified Pensieve charm that we use for witness reports at work. Maybe reading it later will help.

Plus, I don't really want it in my head at full-strength.

**memory transfer, N. Tonks, self-administered**

_I'm standing outside, wearing the wedding dress, in the same scene as the vision I had in the charity shop. Dad is holding my arm, Mum is crying. The sun is shining brightly. I can feel the bite of autumn in the air, smell it in the scent of leaves and wood smoke. _

_Dad is speaking to me but I can't hear him. Bells are ringing at a distance, and the sound fills my ears. _

_Bonng. Bonnng. Donnng. _

_It sounds like cathedral bells._

_I look around a bit. We're on a gently sloping lawn facing the edge of a wood. The leafy branches of the nearest trees arch gracefully overhead. It looks rather like a cathedral ceiling, actually: all bark-covered crossbeams and a rainbow of leaves through which the sunlight filters._

_It feels calm ... peaceful. Happiness fills my chest until it feels about to burst. I turn away from the wood, expecting to see family and friends and Him, the one for whom I'm wearing the dress._

_When I turn, though, Dad's hand slides from my arm. The sun dips behind an iron-grey cloud and the wind picks up, colder now. I'm alone on the grass. I glance back over my shoulder at the trees, no longer welcoming and sacred but dark and forbidding. I reach for my wand and it's not there. I'm completely defenceless, standing here in this beautiful gown – bare feet, bare head, and empty hand._

_A voice in my head tells me to run, to run as fast as I can toward the light that still shines on a hill in the distance. _

_But my feet won't obey the voice. They turn and carry me between the thick, twisted trunks, into the pitch black wood._

_There's a barely discernible path winding away into the distance. I follow it, my bare feet sinking into the rich, dark earth. The scent of decay, of death, rises up with each footfall. It's even colder now, the wind howling around me through the trees. Branches creak overhead. _

_Everything around me is grey or black. I pull a lock of hair forward to check the colour. It's the same mousy brown I was born with, the colour of my father's hair. I try to change it. Try to make my trademark splash of brilliant, vibrant colour in this drab landscape. _

_It doesn't change. I concentrate on that lock of hair while my feet carry me along the path. I screw up my face and imagine bright purple ink flowing down out of my scalp. It's the colour of the Headmaster's robes on feast days, the colour of laughter and singing. Nothing changes, not a single strand of hair! I reach a hand to my hip again for the wand that still isn't there. What is happening?_

_Panicking now! My breath comes faster; I can feel the rush of blood in my ears. I start to run, still heading deeper into the forest. Just above the sound of my pulse, I can hear something whispering, chattering. It's beckoning me, inviting me to step off the path and into the undergrowth. Branches reach across the path, tearing at my skin and hair and dress, trying to pull me in..._

_There's a - _

Crack!

_- like thunder - and I'm in the middle of a small clearing. It feels off, wrong somehow. The dirt under my feet is grey and lifeless. The trees are bare, but there are no leaves to crackle underfoot. My skin crawls. It feels like my body is trying to shed itself. I can't stay here; it feels like death. But I can't move! I can't get back to the path!_

_Something's behind me. I can feel its presence, though it doesn't betray itself with any noise. I look down at my feet, trying to understand why I can't move. I can wiggle my toes but can't make my legs respond. It's as if someone has cast a bind on the muscles._

_I crane my neck, trying to see what's lurking behind me, but it moves back out of my field of vision. Another – _

Crack!

-_ and I'm standing on the edge of a vast lake. The cold wind still whips around my body but the surface of the water is completely flat. I bend forward awkwardly – I still can't move my legs – and look at my reflection. What I see is truly my worst nightmare..._

_There is no colour or form to any of my features. There's just this expanse of smooth skin where my face usually is. My eyes are wide and frightened but grey and otherwise lifeless, my nose is just a bump in the middle of my face and my mouth is gone. The rational part of my brain tries to figure out what has happened but is quickly drowned out by the laughter echoing through my mind._

_I try again and again to Morph but there isn't even the slightest twitch of a nerve. What is happening to me?_

_I can hear the laughter now, behind me, and something turns me to face the sound. My body jerks and twists. I can't fight it. _

_There's an acromantula bearing down on me, venom dripping from its gaping maw, eyes glistening._

_I'm frozen in terror. Even if I had my wand, I would be completely defenceless against this monster._

_It reaches out with one immense, hairy leg and pushes against my chest. The barbed hairs pierce the gown and scratch my skin. The laughter gets louder, carried by the wind until it swirls around me._

_I'm going to die..._

_Suddenly, the beast whirls around. Something is crashing through the underbrush across from where I'm standing! It breaks through the branches and vines which block the path. It's a man – a wizard, by the looks of the wand in his hand. He charges the acromantula, swings his wand over his head and jabs it down toward the beast's hairy body. He roars -_

INCENDIO!

_- and the acromantula screams and flails as its body bursts into flame. It lurches wildly past the wizard into the forest, igniting branches and dead leaves as it goes. The laughter has ceased and a high-pitched keening fills my ears._

_The wizard walks toward me. He waves his wand and the paralysis disappears. I crumple to the ground, sobbing, but the sound is trapped behind the smooth skin where my mouth should be. _

_Suddenly, he is standing right in front of me. I can see mud spattered on the hem of his dark robes. He crouches down and puts a hand under my chin, trying to lift my face to his. I shake my head, cringing away from him. I don't want him to see what a freak I truly am._

_He thrusts something into my hands. It's a mask of my face, my true face._

_Startled, I turn my face up to his and see that he's wearing the same mask. He opens his mouth to speak, but all I can hear is the tolling of bells..._

_Bong. Bonnng. Donnnng..._

**end memory transfer**

I woke in my bed, coated in sweat, my heart and lungs racing like I'd just run several miles. On the pillow next to me, my wand was ringing.

I've been called in to work.

**20:27 **And I'm never reading one of those daft romance novels again.

**21:18** So, the big emergency that I got called in for? They needed someone to answer the emergency Floo-calls.

Oglesby was doing it, but then somebody got hit with a miscast Furnunculus while trying to subdue a drunk and had to go to St Mungo's, so they pulled Oglesby into the field. Since I'm the only Auror with no field rating and no partner, I get to do desk duty.

It's not that I mind being called in on an off day – at least I'm getting a little experience outside my normal duties – but I'm still on edge from that dream. And I would cheerfully hex my own mother for a strong cup of coffee right now.

It sounds boring but watching the grate is actually fairly exciting. I've had to despatch two teams already on calls! One was to a home in Somerset claiming to be under attack and the other was a report of kidnapping. Technically, though, that one should be classified as a nuisance report since it's just daffy old Gladys Gudgeon crying foul about the "disappearance" of Gilderoy Lockhart. She donates a lot of Galleons to Minister Fudge's pet projects, so we have to pretend to take her seriously when she calls in. Which happens twice a month, usually after she spends an evening toasting Lockhart with a bottle of brandy.

I've also redirected a couple of calls: two to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office (they'll have to leave a message as neither of the wizards assigned to that department is working right now) and one to Werewolf Support Services.

I have a feeling I'm going to have to field a lot of calls about werewolves tonight. Fewer than thirty on the whole island who aren't taking that new potion, but _somehow_ there's a werewolf lurking outside every door. I'm not saying that they aren't dangerous and that people shouldn't be on alert during the full moon, but _really_. It seems like a little more fact and a little less misinformation would go a long way these days.

Anyway, one of the Auror teams just popped in to fill out reports, so I'm going to head to the ladies' and grab a cuppa on the way back.

Did I mention that I'm on grate duty until the support staff gets here in the morning? Groan.

**22:43 **Just had a chat with Mr Weasley, the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office. I think I remember seeing him at Hogwarts once or twice. He had two sons: Bill, who was in my year, and Charlie, who was two years behind us.

Had to disturb him at home (I hope his wife isn't _too_ angry with me; you should've heard the way she bellowed for him!) after we got a call that someone was interfering with Muggle traffic signals. He seemed terribly excited until I told him about the fatalities that occurred in the resulting accidents. I don't envy him his job tonight.

**22:58 **Okay, here's the tally of calls I've fielded in the last few hours:

1 Muggle interference, dire;  
1 kidnapping, bogus;  
1 household under attack, bogus;  
1 suspicious death, bogus ("victim" was practicing self-body binds);  
2 Dark Mark sightings (both times it turned out to involve fireworks and vast quantities of mead);  
4 Muggle interference, minor;  
10 misdirected calls;  
12 drunk and disorderly complaints, all involving the same, thoroughly soused, individual in Diagon Alley;  
17 Werewolf reports, only one so far with any validity;

And the winner: **28** Sirius Black sightings, including one witch who said he broke into her house and seduced her!

Bet Kingsley's _loving_ that one...

Things have slowed down a bit in the last quarter hour. Maybe I'll get a chance to review the International Conference dossier tonight. I've nothing to do with the British delegation, but one should be prepared for any eventuality.

**23:21 **I'm pretty sure I hate Belgium. A two-day conference and they've sent us no fewer than 200 pages about proper identification, travel papers and security protocols. Gah!

Also, it just occurred to me that I could record some of these Floo-calls. For training purposes only, mind. Perhaps Savage could review how I handled the callers. I wouldn't dream of reading these later and laughing hysterically at the drunken claims!

Much, anyway.

**begin transcription, N. Tonks, Grate Duty, 06-07 June 1994  
standard privacy charm activated**

**Auror: **Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Division. What is the nature of your emergency?

**Caller: **Izzat choo, Igby? Whatchoo wearing tha' wig for?

**Auror: **Sir, you've reached the Auror Division. Are you reporting a situation?

**Caller: **Oh, fu...

**-**

**Auror: **Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Division. What is the nature of your emergency?

**Caller: **OH MY GODS! THERE'S A WEREWOLF AT THE DOOR!

**Auror: **Stay calm, ma'am. Is the werewolf trying to get in?

**Caller: **WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!

**Auror: **Ma'am, I need you to stay calm. The scroll says you're in Chepstow? 151 Laburnham Way?

**Caller: **YES!

**Auror: **Okay, I'm despatching an Emergency Werewolf Capture team to your location. Have you sealed all the entrances to your home?

**Caller: **Yes, yes, oh gods, HURRY!

**Auror: **The team should be there any moment. Can you see out your window to let me know when they've apparated in?

**Caller: **...They just got here. (muffled) Oh!

**Auror: **Ma'am, is everything all right?

**Caller: **Yes, it's fine. It's fine. It was just my dog, Balfour, at the door. Sorry to disturb.

**Auror: **No trouble, ma'am. It's why we're here! Have a pleasant night.

**Caller: **You too, dear. (muffled) No! NOT ON THE CARPET!

**-**

**Auror: **Aurors. What's the problem?

**Caller: **I didn't realize they were letting children run the Ministry these days.

**Auror: **(_loud thud, crash_) P-p-professor! Why are you calling here?

**Caller: **I see you are still as dense as you are clumsy, Miss Tonks. I am reporting an emergency. Why else would I be contacting you?

**Auror: **Ahem, right. Er. What is the nature of your emergency? Sir.

**Caller: **Is there no one else in the Department who can field my call?

**Auror: **No, _sir_. I'm the only one here at the moment. You'll just have to trust me.

**Caller: **Very well. Against my better judgement, I'd like to add.

**Auror: **Now, listen, you...

**Caller: **Inform Minister Fudge he is to despatch a team of Hit Wizards to Hogwarts immediately. I have captured Sirius Black.

**Auror: **(_loud thud)_

**Caller: **(muffled) Merlin save me from this dunderhead.

**Auror: **Did you say Sirius_ Black_? What, all by yourself?

**Caller: **Yes, Miss Tonks, I did. Now, are you going to do your job and inform the appropriate authorities or do I need to come there to do it for you?

**Auror: **No, sir, I – Right away, sir.

**Caller: **We've already sent someone to bring the Dementors in from Hogsmeade, so don't bother.

**Caller: **Oh, and you might want to call in a Werewolf Capture unit. There is an un-medicated werewolf loose on the grounds.

**Auror: **A _WEREWOLF_?

**Caller: **Do I not speak plainly enough for you? Yes. A. Were. Wolf.

**Auror: **But, but how did a werewolf get through the wards in the Forbidden Forest?

**Caller: **Because, you idiot girl, he came from _inside the school_.

**Auror: **(_loud crash_)

**Caller: **Oh, for pity's sake...

**end transcription  
record deleted**

* * *

******A/N, the sequel: **JKR hasn't told us much about the Auror Division: how it works, the chain of command, which cases it investigates, and so on. My version of the Aurors is kind of a catch-all elite policing authority. They combine many of the tasks carried out by the American Secret Service, the FBI, MI-5 and any Muggle police department. They are on call twenty-four hours a day and, during non-office hours, act as a coordination/command team for some of the other departments of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. In short, when you use the Floo Network equivalent of 999/911, you get an Auror on the other end. (This comes directly from my inability to believe that the two wizards in Muggle Artefacts split shifts so that someone is in the office to take calls at any hour. And I highly doubt that Molly Weasley would take too kindly to having emergency calls directed to her Floo connection!) 

The Hit Wizards are a semi-autonomous branch of the Auror Division; their Muggle equivalent would be the United States Marshals. Their job is to take dangerous criminals into custody and transport them to the appropriate facilities. They are semi-autonomous in the sense that they report directly to a superior in the Auror Division, but are authorized to take action as they see fit while in the field.

The Unspeakables, who may or may not show up later, would then be the magical world's equivalent of MI-6 or the CIA. If I told you any more, I'd have to have Tonks give you a Memory Charm.

And thus ends my ridiculously long and unnecessary Wizarding Culture lecture. bows

Tonks flatly refused to have anything to do with it. Says you lot should have been paying more attention in school.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Ms Rowling is my hero. Anything you recognize belongs to her, even if I have taken a few liberties... She seems a good sport, though, doesn't she?

**A/N: **Once again, a hearty thank you to all who have reviewed (and to those who have read but not reviewed)! I'm trying to respond individually to all of you, but what with work, friends, family and impending out-of-state vacation, I'm not getting to it as quickly as I'd like. Rest assured, though, each review that lands in my inbox is petted and stroked until it lies in tatters.

(Oh, and if you're reviewing at the Quill, leave me your address!)

**Virtual chocolate frogs** to WiccaRowan for sharing an extremely fascinating slice of her life with us _and_ for her invaluable beta skills. Grazie!

* * *

The Case Book of Auror (Third Class) Nymphadora Tonks  
1994-1995

**06 June 1994  
23:55 **Things are rather chaotic here at the moment. I want to make sure I've got a record of everything that is happening, so I've ducked into my cubicle to write this.

After Professor Snape (greasy bastard) Flooed, I had the dubious honour of waking up Minister Fudge and giving him the news. I've never seen anyone who wasn't a ghost turn quite that shade of grey before. Almost as soon as he finished stuttering at me, he Apparated directly into Auror Headquarters. I sounded the general alarm to bring all non-occupied teams to the office.

Kingsley Shacklebolt and his partner were the first to arrive – looking slightly ill. Guess that victim of Sirius Black's alleged seduction was better than I'd hoped! Kingsley gave me a strange look and told his partner to notify the warden of Azkaban. I piped up and told him I'd already done so. That and contacted the Dementor Liaison in Hogsmeade, told the Floo administrator to shut down all non-essential connections for the night _and _sent the necessary information to the portrait in the Muggle Prime Minister's office.

Kingsley just looked at me. I started to fidget a little. I couldn't tell if he was surprised, pleased or bloody well pissed off. Whatever he was, though, he didn't say anything.

Things happened pretty quickly after that. Two more teams arrived, Kingsley started barking orders, and Minister Fudge was just standing around being useless. The Dementor Liaison called to let us know that he couldn't account for more than half the contingent stationed around Hogwarts but had sent a Dementor up to the castle with Walden Macnair. Kingsley really started shouting then. He just left about five minutes ago for the school, Fudge in tow.

Right now, all the other Aurors are contacting members of the Wizengamot, calling in Hit Wizards for Sirius's transportation back to Azkaban ... and making bets as to whether he'll be Kissed right on the spot as soon as the Dementor has him in custody. For once, no one is giving me funny looks; I doubt they've even noticed I'm here tonight.

Oglesby is back on the grate for right now, so I think I'm just going to go down to the cafeteria for some more coffee. I don't think I can listen to them talking about Sirius and Dementors any more right now.

**07 June 1994  
00:01 **Not that I don't think Sirius deserves whatever punishment the Wizengamot hands down, but I've seen what the Kiss does to people. I'm not sure I think anyone deserves that.

It's not that I'm against harsh sentences for the most heinous crimes, but the Kiss really goes above and beyond what I would consider humane treatment of criminals. After all, isn't it the point of punishing someone for their crime – that they've done something so far outside what is considered moral and right that they've lost all privileges granted to those of who haven't broken the social contract?

The Kiss, though... When a Dementor performs it outside the jurisdiction of the Ministry, it's considered an abomination. At the Ministry's directive, it's apparently all well and good.

I dunno. It's too late to be debating morality with myself.

Plus, I think I've a bit of childhood affection for Sirius muddying up the waters. Sometimes it's hard to remember that the cousin I adored from afar is this hardened criminal who's been on the run for the past year.

It's one thing to argue the merits of incarceration versus incapacitation during training classes for Magical Law. It's another thing entirely when one can still remember hugs and wrestling matches and bizarre but cherished birthday presents.

**00:17** Oh, gods. He's escaped. _Again_. From a locked office several stories up, with no wand, inside an anti-Apparition zone and without anyone seeing him.

Kingsley just came back to the office and he is _furious_. As soon as he saw me, he asked the room if anyone could vouch for my whereabouts for the past twenty minutes. No one could, since I decided to skive off to the cafeteria. He's suspended me indefinitely (pending Scrimgeour's approval) and is sending me with another Auror – a _guard ­_– to my parents' house, where we're "to wait for further instructions".

Wonderful. Stupid bloody Sirius Black is ruining my life! Oh, how I'd love to get my hands on that bastard...

**00:21 **Oh, _wonderful_. How fan-_bloody_-tastic.

Really Hot Auror from my Stealth Trial is going to be my guard.

**00:48 **Really Hot Auror – his name is Rupert Wriothesley, by the way – let me stop off at the flat to pick up a few things before we went to Mum and Dad's. They were sleeping, of course, but once RHA explained why he was there, they woke up in a hurry. Dad kept RHA occupied in the living room ("Wriothesley? I knew a Michael Wriothesley back in Devon. Any relation?") while Mum pumped me for information in the kitchen. Wasn't much I could tell her beyond the basics and even that was hard to get out through my gritted teeth. When I got to the part about my suspension, she muttered, "We'll just see about that!" Mum isn't the type to send a Howler, but I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Scrimgeour received a very strongly worded letter sometime tonight.

I'm so tired and angry right now. I'd better get to bed before I end up raiding Dad's booze.

**09:10 **Didn't sleep much, kept tossing and turning. Stumbled into the kitchen for tea and scones (hair all over the place, face puffy, yawning) to find RHA calmly drinking tea and chatting with Mum. He looks like a million Galleons, even after no sleep. I, on the other hand, look like I was pulled through a hedgerow backwards. Bastard.

There were two Ministry owls waiting for me at the window. The first was from Kingsley _Bloody_ Shacklebolt, "requesting" my presence in his office at half past three this afternoon. The other was from Rufus Scrimgeour, telling me that my suspension was denied but that I am on administrative leave until this matter is cleared up to his satisfaction. Mum looked a little shifty-eyed when I read that one aloud.

RHA thanked Mum for the tea and left not long after. Seems I don't need a personal guard after all.

**10:34 **Or maybe my hair frightened him off. I just went into the bathroom to clean up and _ye gods_! Note to self: remember to Morph hair into short, spiky style before bed. Long hair plus night of tossing and turning equals unflattering Medusa impersonation.

Mum and I are going shopping this morning. She says she needs to do something, else she'll end up shrieking like a banshee in the lobby of the Ministry. (She and Dad had their own owls this morning: Aurors will be stationed outside their home in the event that Sirius Black decides he'd like a family reunion.)

Dad's off to work, but he'll meet us for lunch at the Three Broomsticks. Mum's idea. Says if they're watching us, we might as well give them a good show. Apparently that means spending time near the last place Sirius was spotted. I dunno. But there's no arguing with her when she's in one of these moods.

Tried doing my hair in a shocking lime-green to brighten my mood, but I'm too upset to Morph right now. Guess I'm stuck with these blonde braids for a little while.

**12:43 **Feet ready to _fall off_. I think we've visited every single shop in both Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Mum's bought so much stuff she's had to shrink it and send it home by Floo twice already.

We're waiting for Dad in the pub now. Rosmerta and Mum are catching up on gossip at the bar between customers and I'm people-watching. What? It's not being nosey; I'm practising my Observation and Investigation skills. Never going to get ahead in this job if I don't keep up on my training, right?

Plus, this is a game I've been playing since the first time I read a Sherlock Holmes story. Granted, he knew everything about everyone because Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was writing it all for him, but still... It really is a lot easier than it seems. If you pay attention to details, you can read a person's situation in life in little more than a glance. Dead useful when sizing up new acquaintances and objects of lust. Unfortunately, alcohol does more harm than good in the game – witness my short yet spectacular string of Utter Prat Ex-Boyfriends.

So, I'm just going to note the people in the pub, what they're doing/eating/drinking, make some preliminary conclusions and then pester Rosmerta into telling me about them. In a totally professional and not gossipy way, of course.

_Subjects 1 and 2:_ Middle-aged couple: him – grey hair, goatee, thin; her – grey bouffant, flowered robes, overweight. She's got a gold ring on every finger. They're sharing a dish of berries with clotted cream and bottle of elf-made wine and touching far more than most married couples their age do. In public, anyway. She keeps peering at the door when anyone walks in. He's utterly relaxed, but seems to be paying more attention to the young brunette nearby.  
_Conclusion: _They're having a none-too-discreet affair and he's ready to break it off. And she should really re-think that hairstyle.  
_Rosmerta says: _Right on the Galleon. She's had that bouffant since 1983.

_Subject 3: _Young brunette sitting alone in a booth by the entrance, very pretty. Maybe two (three?) years out of school, although I don't recognize her at all. Is picking at a plate of lettuce while a heaping serving of shepherd's pie cools next to her elbow. (May have to confiscate lunch in the interests of food preservation. Clearly some kind of food abuse situation. Gods, I can _smell_ it from here and my stomach won't stop growling.) Occasionally chews on rabbit food while watching the street outside or checking the clock above the bar.  
_Conclusion: _Possibly foreign-born. Issues with tasty traditional British dishes, or eating disorder. Vegetarian? Most likely waiting for someone who is not going to show. Based on neglect of delicious fatty food, probably a wizard.  
_Rosmerta says: _She's a clerk at Dervish and Banges and she's been eating lunch every day with a clerk (male) from Zonko's who apparently stood her up today. Was a student at Hogwarts (Hufflepuff) and has lost four stone since leaving!

_Subject 4: _Youngish blond wizard sitting at bar. Drinking small glass of brandy, no food. Reading parchments and stealing glances down Rosmerta's robe. Shock! He just checked out Mum's arse when she went to the ladies'!  
_Conclusion: _On his lunch break from soul-destroying job. Also, git. Cute though, if clearly a perv.  
_Rosmerta says: _Perv. Good tipper, though.

_Subjects 5,6,7,8,9,10: _Family – frazzled mum, five (!) children all under the age of ten, else they'd be up at the school. The two biggest children are having a food fight and the little one won't stop crying.  
_Conclusion:_ I'm never having children.  
_Rosmerta says: _Those children are monsters.

Ooh, Dad's here! We can finally eat!

**13:28 **The pub's cleared out a bit, so Rosmerta's sitting with us when she can. She and Mum are reminiscing about school again. Dad throws in a quip or comment now and again but it's hard to get a word in edgewise around those two. I've been trying to listen, but I don't know any of the people they're gossiping about. Plus, every time Rosmerta leaves the table, Dad launches into this never-ending story about his desk at work, a bowl of porridge and the latest edition of _Uncontrollable Magic and Inquisitive Muggles: Confundus Charms Are Your New Best Friend_.

I dunno.

So, more observing!

_Subject 11: _There's an older man sitting at the bar now, steadily working his way through a sandwich, a bowl of soup, a salad and the largest slice of apple tart I've ever seen. He's got long white hair and a scraggly white beard. His eyebrows look like they're attacking his forehead. He keeps checking the time on the clock above the bar, shaking his head and shovelling food in his mouth.  
_Conclusion: _Even Aberforth Dumbledore won't eat anything that comes out of his kitchen at the Hog's Head.  
_Rosmerta says: _Nothing. Laughing quite hysterically at the idea of Aberforth cooking for himself.

_Subject 12: _Now _this_ is a challenge: A man just walked in and sat at the smallest table in the farthest corner of the pub. He's wearing a frayed, patched cloak over a set of equally shabby robes. Good quality, though. Outfit was probably quite dashing when new, which was likely a decade ago based on the size of that cowl. He put a bulging bag secured with twine on the empty chair before opening his menu. He's got shaggy light brown hair with more than a few streaks of grey, but his face is really quite young-looking. And he just caught me staring, so I'm going to pretend to be listening to Dad now...

**13:45** This is really getting annoying. I can't stop looking at the wizard in the corner and every time I do, he looks me straight in the eye. He knows I'm watching him! What kind of Auror _am_ I if I can't even manage a bit of harmless ogling? I mean _observing_. I'm not ogling!

…

Really. Not ogling. He looks like he just crawled out of a sick bed, for Merlin's sake. And he's far too thin for my tastes. Nothing like a skinny bloke to make one's arse look twice as wide. Plus, I'd be worried that I'd crush him if I were on –

What! I did not just think that! Must concentrate on _professional_ observations!

_Subject 12, continued: _Thin. Looks ill. Healthy appetite, though. Has made quick work of a large corned beef sandwich and a glass of milk (odd choice for an adult). Rosmerta keeps hovering over his table, urging him to "eat up, dear". They had a bit of an argument a few moments ago. Speaking very softly so couldn't make out what they were saying, but did hear her tell him not to be such a child and that she'd "put it on the (_mumble)_ account". He blushed a bit at that. He looks much better with colour in his cheeks and even younger with that slight smile... (Professional!) Medium height. Very pale. Overall, not much to look at BUT I CAN'T STOP LOOKING!  
_Conclusion: _Probably works in Hogsmeade (hence the "account"), but not a well-paying job. Or he has a huge family at home and doesn't have much in the way of money for luxuries. Rosmerta knows him well, meaning he visits here often or she's known him a long time. He's not old enough to be a classmate and surely he'd dress better if he worked for the school. I think I might actually be at a loss here.

He does look vaguely familiar though. May have to do some digging.

**14:24 **Back at my flat to get ready for meeting with Kingsley. Hair won't Morph so I'm still stuck with blonde braids. Argh! Wanted to do a more dignified style and colour to better demonstrate my professional self. Will have to settle for dressing in drabbest robes. Luckily, have a set left from aborted apothecary apprenticeship.

Why I ever thought I'd be able to manage working in a shop stocked from floor to ceiling with crystal phials, I'll never know.

**15:37 **Arrived for meeting with Kingsley _Bloody _Shacklebolt more than twenty minutes ago and I'm still waiting to be called in. Wanker.

Rosmerta wouldn't tell me anything about that skinny bloke in the pub. She did say that she knew him when he was a student, then she and Mum exchanged looks and Dad changed the subject. Am intrigued.

**19:21 **Strangest thing ever. Just as I was ready to break down the door of the conference room and start demanding answers, Kingsley walked out –

WITH THE BLOKE FROM THE PUB!

He didn't look as ill as he did at lunch. Bit more colour in his face. He and Kingsley seemed very serious and grim when they walked out, but then Kingsley gave him a one-armed man-hug (you know, no body contact, lots of back pounding, et cetera). Weird.

So Kingsley just walked back into the conference room, ignoring me completely, and the skinny bloke started toward me. He was reading some scroll he carried in one hand and managing to walk in a straight line while he did it. Am jealous.

Just as Slim (as I shall now call him) drew even with where I was sitting, Kingsley opened the door again, beckoned me inside and walked back in without bothering to see if I jumped at his command. I tried to calmly and gracefully stand up and walk across the office, but my foot got caught on the hem of my robe, my wand went flying and I did an incredibly embarrassing arm-flailing somersault that ended with me lying arse-over-teakettle against the far wall with a potted plant resting in the small of my back.

And I think I gave a most undignified squeal when I landed. Joy.

Heads popped up over cubicle walls all through the office like some demented zoo animal colony. Was only slightly mortified at once again demonstrating my utter inability to control my body. Gave a cheery wave to the office in general and started to put myself (and the plant) to rights when suddenly there was a hand in my face. It was Slim, offering to help me up.

Wanted to _die_.

He's really much stronger than he looks. Pulled me to my feet with little visible effort. And when I put my hand on his arm to steady myself, it felt like I was grasping a tree limb. A skinny one, yeah, but very solid. And nice. Er, not that I was feeling him up or anything. Just a passing observation.

Anyway, he brushed a leaf from my shoulder and said, in a voice clearly meant to carry through the office, "So _that's_ how one does a Redcap Roll! Thank you for demonstrating it for me, Miss..."

I stuttered out, "Tonks, Nym- _Auror_ Tonks."

He smiled at me then and I swear my mind went totally blank. I have no earthly idea what he said next, but all the faces sank back below the partitions and he left before I recovered enough to ask him his name. Walked into Kingsley's office and completely missed the first five minutes of whatever he said to me.

So much for professional.

Meeting didn't go too badly once I managed to shake off my daze. Am reinstated officially and start back to work on Monday. Kingsley even mentioned a possible job transfer, but I dunno. It was all very vague.

I don't think he suspects me of having anything to do with Sirius anymore. He kept saying something about appearances versus reality, which I took at first to be a dig at my abilities, but by the third time he repeated himself, I realized I had no idea what he was talking about. Kept giving me significant looks, but couldn't bring self to ask what he was saying so just nodded and smiled faintly.

Oh, _flibbertigibbet!_ I'm supposed to meet everyone in less than an hour and I'm still in these awful robes. Wonder if I'm in a good enough mood to pull off Town Tonks tonight?

**41:70 **Haff bess frens in world. Hexy's gonna bugger 'Melia Bones! Wait... not right... He's gonna put a _bug_ 'n her _ear_. Mebbe bugger too. Dunno. Eye won' open 'n ink gone all swimmy. Hes gonna tell 'er I hate Siriuss more'n most people. Hexy's wonnerful. I'd marry 'im if he licked witches 'stead of wiz'rds.

Hee hee! Licked!

Rilly Hawt- Rupert! He wants me t'call him Rupert! He's rilly hawt. Think I love 'im. Showed up at th' Hogs Head tonight. Bought m'drinks _all night_ 'n no rick... reqw... askin' fer bigger boobs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Ms Rowling is my hero. Anything you recognize belongs to her, even if I have taken a few liberties... She seems a good sport, though, doesn't she?

**A/N: **Apologies for the insanely long wait for this chapter! Real life and writer's block (not to mention a crazy detour into the _Firefly_ 'verse by the Muse) really took their toll the past few months. Thanks to everyone who reviewed or emailed to let me know they were waiting for the next chapter of Tonks's (mis)adventures. You guys are the reason this thing even exists!

**Virtual chocolate frogs** to WiccaRowan for wielding the Pointy Author-Poking Stick of Doooooom _and_ for her invaluable beta skills. Grazie!

* * *

The Case Book of Auror (Third Class) Nymphadora Tonks  
1994-1995

**08 June 1994 – Birthday in Four Days!  
11:54 **This time I really mean it: NO MORE DRINKING!

Head feels like herd of erumpents are marching in formation. Accompanied by full goblin orchestra.

Last night very fun. Gwyn and Bertram had some trouble with the witch who watches their son and didn't arrive until our third or fourth shared pitcher of ale. Everyone was properly outraged at my treatment at hands of Ministry wizards who clearly don't know their arse from a hole in the ground. Hexy and Jaya went so far as to declare that they no longer find Kingsley to be a fine specimen of Wizarding male and would most assuredly _not_ shag him should the opportunity arise.

Love them.

Still hard to believe Rupert was there. Very funny and hot and witty and hot and generous buyer of multiple rounds. And hot. Even Sophie warmed up to him and she doesn't care for anyone who is that attractive. Doesn't trust them or some such nonsense.

Must take shower. Feel as if I rolled around on the grotty floor of Hog's Head. Ugh.

**12:19 **Now I think on it, probably _did_ roll around on grotty floor of Hog's Head. Never was able to manage those Flaming Gargoyles gracefully.

I think it's the ginger.

**13:31 **Oh bugger. Have annual Tonks Summer Birthdays party tonight and haven't picked up gifts for cousins yet. Will have to do a bit of shopping in Muggle London on my way.

**15:57 **Waiting for Dad to finish dressing before we apparate to Grammy's. Had rather hoped to take the train but spent too much time in Muggle toy shop and made us all late. Did get adorable stuffed bear for Jeannie and one of those video game thingies for Samuel. Hope I got the right kind. The shop clerk was entirely too excited about my choice and he's about the same age as Samuel, so I should be in the clear.

Adults all get the standard all-purpose gift basket from Sainsbury's. Can't go wrong with chocolate biscuits and gourmet jams!

All except Grammy, of course. She gets a custom-knitted jumper and matching sock set. Started on it lastsummer and finished just a few weeks ago. Grammy is the only one who merits such a lovely and thoughtful gift as she wears my creations proudly. With virtually no snarking on the mismatched sleeve lengths and laddering. Very classy lady.

**22:49 **I am now the proud nearly-23-years-old owner of _seven_ Sainsbury gift baskets. Great minds and all that.

And a pair of pineapple-shaped hair clips from Jeannie. She's four. Wonderful taste in accessories, though.

Party was fun, even if I did have to field the inevitable flood of questions from well-meaning relatives as to the state of my love life. Love them all, but really! Did it never occur to them that if a single person arrives sans date, it might be a sore point that _you shouldn't_ _keep bringing up?_

Sample question (this from Dad's sister Barb): So, where's that delightful young man you brought at Christmas time?

Actual response: Oh, I don't see him much any more. So busy with work, y'know. Ha ha!

Response I wish I'd given (but couldn't, considering I just thought of it twenty minutes ago _and_ it would violate about twelve different Secrecy statutes): Well, he was an utter knob-end who found that the seductive properties of the Heliopath offered more than did my meagre feminine charms, so he's buggered off to who-knows-where to "study" them. May he fall into a bog and reek of rot for the rest of his days.

I do have a lovely purpling bruise on my forehead from trying to walk through Grammy's sliding door. She needs a hobby; glass should never be that clean.

**10 June 1994 – Birthday in two days!  
18:23 **Today was first day of new assignment. Will miss Savage and Lobelia but new job is much more rewarding, if mind-numbingly boring. Am working on the Oversight Committee for Quidditch World Cup Security and Charms!

Okay, am doing glorified note-taking and filing, but still. Quidditch World Cup! Chance to work with other departments!

Don't have a high enough field rating to do any on-site work, but I'm coordinating some of the last-minute warding from the office. It's amazingly complex how many different spells are being used. Spent most of the morning taking notes of a meeting with the team leader from Gringott's (several of their Curse Breakers are doing the testing).

Rupert stopped by in the afternoon to see if I'd like to have lunch with him tomorrow. Hurrah!

**11 June 1994 – Lunch with Rupert! Birthday Tomorrow!  
06:13 **Have already changed outfits four times and am not due to leave for work for another two hours.

**06:57 **Nine times.

**07:16 **Right. Am leaving early. Removing self from temptation of closets will help tremendously. As a bonus, will have time to smell freshly baked scones at the corner bakery as am too nervous to eat anything.

Also, twelve times.

**13:08 **No time for details of lunch beyond that it was loads of fun and we've made plans to do it again next week. Am already late for status meeting with Department of Games team.

**17:51 **Joy. We've now descended into a rehash of the 1982 match against India. No matter! Have time to write about lunch!

We popped up to Hogsmeade to eat at Rosmerta's. Had brief moment of panic thinking that Rupert meant for us to go to Puddifoot's (am as good as banned for life, thank Merlin **–** would rather not pick confetti out of my tea and dodge dive-bombing cherubs while trying to impress potential boyfriend with witty repartee). Rosmerta practically molested Rupert when we walked in, then winked very obviously at me while saying what a pleasure it was to see me out and about with such an attractive wizard. Wanted to die and am sure that my hair flamed as brilliantly as my cheeks. Once we sat down to eat, I was much less nervous. Rupert is very easy to talk to – was like lunching with an old friend which gave me another round of panic. Is he not interested? Does he just want to be work friends who lunch together and occasionally drink too much?

All is not lost, though! He did pull out my chair for me and give me a kiss on the hand before we Apparated back to work. Hurrah! Is gentleman!

Crap. Weedy Clerk just asked question and everyone is staring at me. How'm I supposed to pay attention when there is swooning over lunch date to be done?

**20:32 **Am too exhausted to do more than fall into bed. Just got home from status meeting. Gods, but they're a long-winded bunch. Probably wouldn't have taken so long if they weren't missing one of their team members (I think someone said she's on holiday in Eastern Europe) and Ludo Bagman could go longer than twenty minutes without reminiscing about his professional Quidditch days. Wanker.

Did get his autograph for Bertram so all was not lost.

**12 June 1994 – Birthday!  
06:31 **Am twenty-three today! Adult with professional career! Hurrah!

Mum and Dad are taking me to dinner at Magda's after work. Seems slightly pathetic to celebrate birthday with parents instead of friends (and potential boyfriend), but don't care. Magda's is tradition.

And have grown out of horrible hate-my-parents teenaged angst and discovered that parents are rather cool after all.

Work today will be quite boring. Am to spend day documenting believable Muggle-Worthy Excuses for QWC. Bunch of stuffed-shirts in that office. Will go with spiky orange and blue hair today.

**21:16** Am so full I could barely even Floo home after dinner. I wish I could afford to eat at Magda's more often. They have the most delicious meal, the World Tour Platter: Greek salad, Chicken Florentine, falafel with tahini sauce, spring rolls and, for afters, Russian kisel. Dad practically had to roll me outside.

Birthday present from Mum and Dad is almost too much: TWO TICKETS TO THE WORLD CUP!

Am so unbelievably excited! Gwyn and Bertram are taking their son (they told us all about getting the tickets through her brother's connections at Quality Quidditch the other night) and I haven't seen a professional match since I started Auror training. I don't even know which teams are in contention!

**23:01 **One small problem: who am I going to take?

**23:14 **It's too soon to ask Rupert to come away with me, isn't it?

**23:50 **Is it?

**14 June 1994  
15:33 **I swear to Zeus that if I have to hear about Ludo Bagman's Quidditch prowess for one more moment, I'm going to turn him into a bludger.

One of the blokes on the Games team is passed out at the table right now as Ludo babbles on and on _and on_ about the time he managed to knock the Puddlemere Seeker clean off his broom just as he was reaching for the Snitch. We tried turning the conversation for awhile but I think that now everyone is simply plotting Ludo's bloody and brutal demise.

**16:08 **I really think that an Unforgivable would be _entirely_ forgivable in this case. Ludo's now moved on to the 1980 exhibition match against Brazil.

**16:21 **Oh, for the love of all that is chocolate and fatty!

Forget the murder Ludo plan. Just kill me now.

**15 June 1994  
12:15 **Just got a memo from Hex that everyone is meeting at the Hog's Head to listen to the Scotland-Luxembourg match tonight. If it runs past closing time, we'll head over to Hexy's flat to continue the party. Er, the very serious gathering for the express purpose of cheering on countrymen. And women.

Wouldn't it be wicked for one of the British teams to wind up in the finals? There hasn't been a home team playing for the title since Germany played in Berlin in 1937. Which was obviously fixed. As if Germany could have defeated the Portuguese without some kind of trickery...

**15:42 **Will not drink, even if Scotland wipes the field with Luxembourg. Or loses horribly. Either way, will celebrate or commiserate while completely sober.

Can still taste those Flaming Gargoyles in the back of my throat. Eurgh.

**16:17 **Maybe I should invite Rupert to come out with us tonight? At very least, can drop not-so-subtle hints about extra ticket going to waste.

Yes. Good plan.

**17:02 **Okay, maybe just one tiny mug of ale...

**16 June 1994  
07:26 **Am so tired can barely see straight. Match just ended and unless England or Ireland pulls a miracle out of their collective arses, we'll have to wait another three years to see a home team in the QWC.

Ran into Lobelia on my way out last night and invited her to come with. Turns out she's a rabid Quidditch fan, never misses a match. She fit in quite well with the regular crowd and had many a funny story about Arsy Face.

Rupert never did answer my owl. Bastard. What is his problem, anyway? We had such a lovely lunch last week and I thought he was keen on going out again this week, but I haven't heard from him at all. Argh!

**10:13 **Is it my arse? I _knew_ I should've spent more time on it instead of my hair.

**18 June 1994  
19:13 **Owl from Rupert waiting when I got home from work. Says an old friend from school is in town and they've been running about town together. Apologized for ignoring my owl and wants to go to lunch tomorrow if I'm free...

YES I BLOODY WELL AM FREE! Hurrah!

**19 June 1994  
13:22 **Another lovely lunch with Rupert. We traded stories of our favourite concerts and trips to Muggle London. (He was at some of the same Weird Sisters concerts that I attended!) He's so cute and funny and hot and he touched my arm seven times while we were at lunch!

Afterwards, we were standing outside the restaurant and he leaned in fairly close to me. I think he may have meant to kiss me, but someone called his name from across the street and he said goodbye to me and all but ran away. Sigh.

Must dash. Am due in status meeting with Scrimgeour and Games team in five minutes!

**20 June 1994  
13:55 **Had another weird conversation with Kingsley at lunch today. He sat next to me in the cafeteria and started talking about the first case he had as a field operative. This wizard up north was wanted for attempting to poison his sister's husband. Seems he was always mouthing off down the pub how he thought the bloke was a total prig and wished his sister had never met him. So, one day, the husband staggered into St Mungo's, pale and vomiting and shaky. The diagnosis in triage was a lethal dose of Granoil. One of the nurses called headquarters and they sent Kingsley to interview the husband. He claimed that he came home from work and the brother was sitting in his kitchen with a bottle of Old Ogden's. Long story short, they had a drink, the wife's brother left and the husband started feeling ill.

Open and shut case, right? Not so, says Kingsley. When Kingsley and his partner apprehended the wizard, he seemed completely shocked at the news. His partner was all for taking the bloke directly to Azkaban, but Kingsley thought something was fishy. So, he started chatting with the guy. Turns out that the sister asked the wizard to keep her husband company while she was out with friends - to bury the hatchet, as it were. Kingsley convinced his partner to bring the bloke to London for questioning (the wizard didn't resist at all) under Veritaserum. During the interrogation, the wizard tells him that when he got to the sister's house, the bottle and the glasses were already out on the table. He had just given up drinking as a promise to his wife, so he just kept his brother-in-law company for a bit.

Kingsley believed the bloke, so he did a quick residue test on the alcohol left in the bottle. There was enough Granoil inside to kill a hippogriff. The trace test on the wizard's hands were negative.

So, Kingsley took a squad back up north and found the sister packing a trunk, a one-way ticket to Bermuda on the kitchen table. She got life in Azkaban.

When he finished the story, he just looked at me for a minute – I'm sure I looked every bit as confused as I felt. Why was he telling me this? Then he said, "When you're investigating, make sure you look below the surface of things. If everything fits together too neatly, there's probably a reason why."

Very weird. What is he on about?

**17:02 **Rupert just popped in by Floo to ask if I'd like to go out for a drink in a few minutes. Hurrah!

**21:44 **Another lovely outing with Rupert. I can hardly believe someone so funny and hot and cute and hot is interested in me. I want to go on and on about everything we talked about, but am afraid of jinxing it.

**21:52 **He doesn't care for orange foods, like carrots. Isn't that the cutest thing? It was almost more than I could –

No! Jinx!

**23 June 1994  
03:11 **We've been so busy at work the last few days, I barely have time to do more than wash my face before I fall asleep at night. Who knew paperwork could be this exhausting?

Good news is that I haven't broken anything or fallen down in a week. Definitely a benefit to riding a desk all day long. Bad news is that I'm so tired all the time. Even with being as exhausted as I am, I'm not sleeping very well.

I'm only up right now because I had that horrible dream again. Third time this week. Tonight, the wizard ran off the acromantula and didn't approach me at all. Same thing with the bells ringing when he opened his mouth, though. Wish he'd come closer so I could get a better look at him. From what I could see, he was still wearing the mask but this time he was carrying something different in his hand. Looked like a scrap of parchment or something.

Oh! There's an owl waiting outside my window! Poor thing – she's probably been out there for hours.

**03:14 **Was owl from Rupert. He wrote that he just realized he'd never wished me a happy birthday and couldn't go to bed until he'd sent me a quick message. Isn't he sweet?

**24 June 1994  
13:07 **Was just doing some laundry when I got an owl from Jaya. The Weird Sisters are playing next weekend at some dodgy club in the City! Hurrah! We haven't been to a proper concert in ages!

And she says she knows someone who's dying to go to the Cup. Double hurrah!

I can't believe it's been this difficult to find someone to go with me. Gwyn and Bertram are already going. Hex has been volunteered to work the entrance, Jaya is visiting relatives in India for the whole month of August and Sophie couldn't care less about Quidditch. Sebastian's going with some of his team-mates from school. Lobelia has had her tickets for ages and Rupert finally admitted he doesn't much care for sports.

Speaking of Rupert, I don't know what's going on there. We've had lunch twice now, went out for drinks after work once and chat in the corridors at work whenever we see each other. I dunno. He's very funny and sweet (and _hot_) and we get on great, but that's it. He seems interested, but the few times I tried to make a move, it felt really wrong. Like trying to snog one's cousin or something.

Not that I know what snogging one's cousin would feel like. Anyway, it's not like he's made a move on me or anything either...

**14:26 **It _is_ my arse, isn't it?

**28 June 1994  
11:29 **There's something a bit dodgy going on up in the Department of Games. That witch who went on hols? She's been gone for over two weeks now and no one has heard from her. One of the blokes I've been meeting with said that she's a total scatterbrain, but she usually sends a couple of cheery postcards.

And she was only authorized for two weeks of leave.

Ludo keeps saying that she'll turn up – apparently she did something like this the first year she was in his department. Left for a mini-break in Breton and came back two weeks later, talking about the ruins at Carthage.

Guess I won't worry about it yet. They know her, so maybe they know what they're talking about.

I do wish she'd come back soon. These guys are pretty much useless.

**13:10 **If she's not back by next weekend, maybe I'll talk to Kingsley. Or pay a visit to Moody. He probably knows her. Plus, if you're looking to call attention to something, he's your guy.

Hmm. Maybe Moody knows who Slim is? I haven't seen him round lately but he keeps popping into my head at the strangest times. I hope he's gotten over whatever illness he had.

**16:38 **Just _casually_ dropped by Rupert's cubicle to see if he had plans to go to the concert this weekend. Luckily, he was out at the time. I say 'luckily' because I tripped over a ripple in the carpeting and knocked about eight pounds of files onto the floor while trying to act nonchalant at being on the wrong end of the office for no apparent reason. Sigh.

Lobelia saw me leaving and told me that they're going out of town on assignment this weekend with some high-level protection detail. Double sigh.

**01 July 1994  
02:45 **The concert was killer!

...not literally, of course.

I haven't danced so much since we went to one of those Muggle music festivals the summer after our last year at Hogwarts. Can't hear anything right now except the thump of my heartbeat. Sounds so much like the drums in _Love Potion_ that I'm loath to fix my hearing.

Jaya and I went to dinner at a little Muggle restaurant before the show. Turns out the person who's dying to see the Cup is her cousin. No, not Nikhil, more's the pity. This is her sixteen year old cousin, Indra, who is visiting her family for the summer. Jaya says he's absolutely Quidditch-mad, much to the dismay of his parents. Apparently he can name all the national team players in the last forty Cup matches but has difficulty remembering how to unlock a door.

Impressive.

I'm a little worried about the appearance of a single witch taking an adolescent on holiday. I mean, I wouldn't normally have a problem with it, and the Choudhuris are fairly modern, but two unmarried people sharing a tent many miles from home and chaperones? The Wizarding world isn't _that_ progressive. Jaya says it's no big deal; they pretty much just want him out of the house. He's driving everyone mad – even her grammy is desperate for something to distract the kid.

Plus, I've never even met Indra. So that's a bit weird.

I dunno. They've invited me to lunch later today so we can talk about it.

**15:06 **I'm pretty sure that kid doesn't even know that girls exist unless they play for one of the national teams. Two solid hours of Quidditch talk! I like the sport as much as the next witch or wizard, but it was nearly enough to turn me off my heaping plate of vindaloo.

Nearly.

Should introduce him to Ludo so they could bore the pants off each other and give the rest of us a break.

**15:08 **That's ... a very disturbing image.

Grammy Choudhuri read my palm again. Seems that not only am I to have a Grand Star-Crossed Romance, but also some Exciting Adventures, a trip to visit relatives overseas, a bit of Parental Disapproval and maybe a musical number or two. Think she's watched one too many Bollywood films this summer. (Research: Do I even _have_ any relatives living abroad?)

Mr Choudhuri slipped me his wife's recipe for sabzi kurma as I was leaving. Said it wasn't nearly adequate payment for taking Indra off their hands for a few days. Love him.

**03 July 1994  
11:21 **Moody walked into the office just as the morning briefing was breaking up. He and Kingsley disappeared into one of the interrogation rooms and have only just come out. When I heard the door open, I waved at Moody to come over to my cubicle. (That eye is really gross, but dead useful. I'm completely hidden by partitions but I can hear him stumping over this way.)

**12:07 **One of these days I'm going to get the guts to ask him if that eye can see through clothing.

Anyway, I mentioned the witch from Games and he looked concerned. Said he'd poke around a little. Tried to ask him about Slim, but he changed the subject pretty fast. Actually, I'm not even sure he heard me. Was busy praising me for not cluttering up my workspace with a bunch of personal items. "Makes it harder for dark wizards to impersonate you this way," he said.

Since he left, I can't stop looking at all this blank space. Is a bit weird that I _haven't_ decorated yet. My flat looks like a charity shop vomited its contents over every available surface and my dorm at Hogwarts was the same way. Will bring in a few pictures tomorrow. And a little plant. Maybe that weird larva lamp (or whatever it's called) Dad bought for me? Probably should have a few books in the desk.

I wonder if my Holyhead Harpies poster would fit on the partition behind me...


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **If I were Ms. Rowling, this only-four-months-between-updates would make front page headlines. Also, I'd be living in a much better neighborhood. Since neither of those two things is true, I must not be Ms. Rowling. Therefore, anything you recognize does not belong to me and is used only for love of the characters. (I promise to put them back when I'm done!)

**A/N: **I am the most miserable excuse for a WIP writer ever. Many apologies for the ridiculous amount of time between updates; I'd promise to do better in future, but we know how well that's worked in the past. A thousand thank yous to everyone who has reviewed and emailed and pestered me for a new chapter!

**Virtual chocolate frogs** to Jadeddiva for the beta (and the best line in this entire chapter!) -- may the plot bunnies continue to multiply!

* * *

The Case Book of Auror (Third Class) Nymphadora Tonks  
1994-1995

**04 July 1994  
11:57 **Woke up this morning feeling like absolute shite. Have taken day off work (thank the gods can do that during the probationary period) and spent the morning hacking up disgusting things and vainly trying to nap. My head is all plugged up and it feels like I've got a hangover but sadly, no drinking last night. Why is it that everyone complains about falling ill in winter, when it's these summer illnesses that are the worst?

And, no, I'm not in some sort of alcoholic denial. Really, no drinking. Spent a lovely quiet evening with a box of photographs from school, trying to find one where I didn't look like a puffskein had nested on my head. Much harder to do than it would seem. _Why_ didn't anyone tell me I looked so awful?

Actually, don't think anyone would have noticed. Everyone looked thoroughly ridiculous – Bertram and Hex in particular. Underage wizards who have just sprouted their first whiskers should definitely be dissuaded from attempting cool beatnik-like goatees. In most of the pictures from sixth year, it looks like they've forgotten how to wash properly and have the most horrendous chocolate milk moustaches. Well, okay, Hex looked like a caterpillar starved to death on his upper lip.

I do wonder at Gwyn's sanity at times. How she found Bertram to be so irresistible at that point is a mystery for the ages.

Did manage to collect a few photos to take into work. Also found one of the Gryffindor section during a Quidditch match in which Bill Weasley features most prominently. Did I have a crush on him? He was one of the most popular guys in our year and in a different house so it stands to reason that I would (mysterious Big Man on Campus type and all that), but I don't recall.

Maybe it was Jaya had the crush on him?

Either way, it's a very good picture of him. He's jumping up and down and waving a 'Charlie _rockets!_' banner, with his hair whipping round his head and the most adorable gold-coloured jumper with a large 'B' on the front... Perhaps Mr Weasley would like to have it?

It really is a _very _good likeness. I wonder what he's up to these days...

**12:28 **Yes, it probably was me who had the crush on Bill. I've just spent twenty minutes daydreaming about that jumper and what lies beneath. Will blame the Cough-No-More potion I've been guzzling all morning. Clearly not in my right mind.

**13:07 **Charlie Weasley wasn't too bad-looking either, if you like that red-haired sensitive animal-lover (not like that!) type.

**13:09 **Aaaand I just went to the bad place. Let's just say, I'm fairly sure the Brothers Weasley would never engage in such scandalous behaviour.

**13:10** More's the pity.

**14:55 **I wish I had a telly in here. When I was little and too ill to go to school, Mum or Dad would Apparate me over to Grammy Tonks's house and she and I would spend the day watching soppy old movies together. At least it would bring a little colour and noise into this place. I don't much like the quiet.

There's absolutely nothing on the wireless either. Maybe I'll just take another dose of Cough-No-More and lay down.

**16:30 **Well, that was certainly strange. _Mad-Eye Moody_ just popped round with a phial of Pepper Up. Said he'd turned up at Headquarters and they told him I was home sick, so he stopped in at the St Mungo's chemist.

And when I bolted down the entire phial in one gulp, his creepy eye (the non-magical one, ha ha) nearly bugged out of his head. He went on for a good five minutes about never accepting any sort of food or potion without testing it first. I swear to Godric, that man has a grisly story of death and destruction for any occasion.

He's also been doing some digging about the witch from Magical Games, Bertha Jorkins. Seems her family isn't worried at all, on account of she does this kind of thing so often. Her auntie told Moody they'd ask for help if she didn't turn up by the end of August. There's some sort of family celebration that she wouldn't dare miss. Moody wants me to keep my eyes and ears open, though. He smells a conspiracy.

Of course, he'd smell a conspiracy in a tasteful arrangement of shrubbery.

Before he left, he berated me for not having adequate security on the flat. Wrote out a list of Necessary Dark Detectors I should rush out to buy as soon as I'm feeling up to it and strengthened some of the wards on my front door and windows. Good luck getting any unexpected owls now! Had to practically wrestle the wand out of his hand when he tried to make the whole building Undetectable. Muggles may be oblivious to most of what we do, but I think they'd notice if the building next door suddenly vanished.

Plus, my landlady would murder him. She has enough trouble remembering where she lives as it is.

**17:22 **Well, bugger. Had Moody here and completely forgot to ask him about Slim. Some Auror I am -- can't even uncover the identity of one random wizard.

**05 July 1994  
09:15 **Still feel like rubbish, but don't want to take another day off while I'm still in the probationary period. Bad enough I took one yesterday, but at least no one suspects me of skiving off. Even after that Pepper Up last night, I've still got a nasty cough. Even Scrimgeour told me to take it easy today.

...now I _know_ Mum owled him about my suspension.

**14:17 **Oh, how sweet! I dropped into the Misuse office to give Mr Weasley the picture I found of Bill. He was so excited to see it. Seems Bill is highly embarrassed by the way he looked at school and Banished most of his photos. And now with him working down in Cairo, they don't get to see him much. Mr Weasley tacked it up over his desk and looked a little teary-eyed. Said they went to visit him last summer and there just wasn't enough time.

I stayed talking to Mr Weasley long enough that we ended up going to lunch together. He was telling me all about Bill and Charlie's jobs (Charlie ended up in Romania, working on a dragon preserve - colour me not surprised at all.). Sounds like it's been pretty rough on them – they have four kids still at Hogwarts and the third-oldest is starting his first job this summer, so his wife will be all alone at home. Mr Weasley's been trying to get her to join a club or take up a new hobby (anything to get out of the house) but she's in a bit of a funk. She's spent the last twenty-odd years taking care of the house and the babies and she's at loose ends now.

I was reading about a new book club for Lockhart fans in the Daily Prophet last week, so I mentioned that to him. Hope she finds something to do.

**15:42 **Am just waiting for Babbling Bagman to join us so we can start our progress meeting. Most of the primary protections are in place at the QWC site and we're now just hammering out some of the security details for the locker rooms. This is the third time we've had to have this particular meeting. The last two times Bagman talked straight through our scheduled hour. Wish we could mysteriously manage to not inform him of the correct time.

Maybe I'll owl Hex and Sophie tonight to see if they have any pictures of the Weasleys from school.

**08 July 1994  
20:39 **I'm actually being allowed on-site tomorrow! The Gringott's team is just doing a few last checks on the wards before the semi-finals matches and a bunch of us Aurors get to be the guinea pigs. All the anti-Muggle and -cheating charms are up, along with the anti-apparition zones and Portkey barriers. There isn't much more that can be done until we know which teams will be playing. The next phase is to do up the locker rooms and the sidelines but all of those particular charms have to be tailored to the individual players and mascots. Wouldn't do to put an anti-vampire ward on the edge of the field if Romania isn't in the game, right?

Had lunch with Rupert again today. I just don't know what's happening there. We have a great time whenever we go out, but it never really feels like a date.

**09 July 1994  
13:21 **The stadium is _amazing_! Even with magic, it doesn't seem possible that this was all thrown together in the last few weeks. There must have been hundreds of contractors working around the clock.

The Gringott's team really put us through our paces this morning. The curse-breaker I was paired up with must have made me trip the interference barrier on the goals at least thirty times. That thing's got a nasty kick.

We're going to tour one of the campsites in a bit. They're expecting far too many people to be able to put up any kind of effective barriers, so they've had to make do with a general anti-Apparition field all over the area. It's spotty at best, apparently. The whole thing has to cover three separate campsites (two on the south side of the stadium and one to the east) and there just aren't enough magical tethers available. (It's a relatively remote area without a lot of Muggle or magical activity close by, and what magical energy there is has been diverted to the stadium itself.)

I wouldn't worry too much about it, though. The biggest problem is going to be crowd control, by far. After the riots the last few years overseas, everyone is a big jumpy about avoiding the same here. Quidditch hooligans and alcohol don't mix well.

Present company excluded, of course.

**16:22 **Oi. Glad I'm not going to be on duty during the Cup (probably the _only_ time I'll be happy not to have an assignment). I honestly don't see how these campsites are going to work. First of all, they're _huge_. They're going to have to have people patrolling singly to cover all of it; there just aren't enough trained Ministry employees to work in pairs. And the general anti-Apparition barrier is spread so thin that it keeps failing.

Secondly, the three campsites cut a wide swath across the moor and most of it is out in the open. There's a largish wood that runs through the middle of one and around two sides of the neighbouring site. It would provide good cover in case of a large-scale attack, but it's going to be a nightmare to patrol. It's also the only logical place for arrivals, which adds an extra level of annoyance to keeping up the anti-Apparition field.

Finally, the anti-Muggle charms alone are going to drain most of the natural magical energy out of the area. The campsite we toured is not far from a fairly busy motorway and butts up against the back side of a small shopping centre. There's an overgrown hedgerow on that end, but once the moor is full of wizards pretending to be Muggles, it's only a matter of time before our cover is blown.

I do feel a little guilty about not volunteering for at least one night, but I can't leave Indra to his own devices. Kid would probably stow away with one of the teams.

**12 July 1994  
10:34 **Mr Weasley caught me on my way in this morning to thank me for all the pictures. (Hex and Sophie contacted a bunch of people we knew at school and made copies of about two hundred (!) photos to give to the Weasleys. Those boys were _really_ popular. Someone – who shall remain nameless – apparently had part of the Quidditch uniform Charlie wore in his last year. Er, we didn't give that one to the family.) As thanks, Mrs Weasley sent along a plate of the most delicious biscuits I've ever tasted. What a sweet woman! Completely at odds with my last glimpse of her, bellowing for Mr Weasley the night Sirius escaped again.

**11:17 **I've had to transfigure the biscuits into a manky-looking jumper in order to thwart all my vicious biscuit-stealing co-workers. I hope it doesn't alter the taste any.

**13:21** Note to self: remember to transfigure jumper back into biscuits before eating. Wool fibres are nowhere near as tasty. Also, absentmindedly shoving a biscuit into mouth in front of boss is not nearly as embarrassing as doing the same with a sleeve.

**15 July 1994  
15:32 **Going into Muggle London with Rupert tonight. There's some new restaurant he wants to try and he said we'll be meeting some of his friends there.

I wish I knew what the deal was with him. This is going to be our fifth semi-date and he's yet to make a move. We have such a great time when we're out together and I keep thinking, "Oh, this is it!" but nothing... Normally, I'd have made a move of my own, but whenever I get the guts up to do it, he starts giving off all these Not Interested signs. Well, that and I feel about seven different kinds of wrong while doing it.

Last night, for example – he called by Floo around eight and we did the usual "how's things" chitchat for a while, he mentioned going out tonight, I flirted until it felt like my cheeks were going to fall off, he seemed to be flirting back but when I asked if he wanted to meet for a drink before dinner (just the two of us), he got all fidgety and had to go.

Jaya thinks maybe he's shy or nervous about starting something with a co-worker. Hex declares that he's "queer as a one-headed Hydra" and volunteers to put him to the test.

I dunno.

**16 July 1994  
01:21 **Oh sweet fanciful Merlin, I think Hex may be right. Let's just say, Rupert's the only wizard I've ever met (besides Hexy, of course) who patted another wizard on the arse outside of a sport-related situation.

Who am I kidding? Patted, ha! That was a definite caress if ever I saw one.

On the plus side, at least I have someone to go out with who won't end up with his tongue down my throat and his hand up my shirt at the end of the night.

**01:38 **Would actually be rather nice to go out with a wizard who _does _end up with his tongue down my throat and his hand up my shirt at the end of the night.

**01:41 **Oh, hell. All that at any time of day would be lovely.

**01:47 **I mean, it's not as though I want to get married next week or that I spent the last few weeks doodling 'Rupert loves Tonks' in the margins of this journal (okay, so I did do that last thing), but is it so much to ask that I find a bloke who's not married/in a relationship/gay/in Azkaban/on his way to Azkaban and is willing to treat me as an object of lust for at least an evening? I mean, really?

**02:09** Okay, so I'd prefer a bloke who would be willing to treat me as an object of lust for longer than an evening, but I'm willing to start small and work my way up.

**02:17** Maybe he isn't really gay. It could have just been a supremely-confident-in-their-heterosexuality display of manly affection between two totally not gay friends!

**02:22 **Sigh. Why don't I have any alcohol or chocolate in this stupid flat?

**17 July 1994  
12:17 **Whoever said that things always look better in the light of day should be brought back to life just so I can beat him or her with a boot. The light of day makes things look even more depressing. Especially when said light is streaming through one's curtains and falls on a birthday card from gorgeous and apparently GAY former potential boyfriend that has somehow mysteriously been set up on one's bedside table in a not-at-all shrine-like atmosphere.

**18 July 1994  
17:43 **Really? Gay? Bugger.

Oh!

**19 July 1994  
15:06 **Have eaten every bit of food in entire flat, so must pop into Demeter's to pick up groceries after work tonight.

Am finally going to try out Mrs Choudhuri's sabzi kurma recipe. Must remember to buy double the necessary ingredients as I'm sure I'll bollocks it up at least once.

Also, should grab one or two of those ready-made sandwiches in case things don't turn out like they should.

Rupert's been attached to a murder case in York the past few days and I haven't heard from him at all. I should send him an owl tonight – let him know that the other night didn't freak me out (would rather pretend that hopes for potential hot boyfriend were not shattered if at all possible). Not that I'm certain that's why I haven't heard from him, but Hexy did a similar disappearing act after I caught him snogging the Hufflepuff Quidditch captain in our fifth year and this situation has the same feel to it.

**16:44 **Rupert has to be gay. Wizards that nice _and_ good-looking are too good to be true.

**18:14 **Gods! The most random thing just happened...

So there I was, in the middle of the produce aisle at Demeter's, when I heard someone clear his throat behind me. Jumped about a foot in the air (so much for advanced training in being aware of one's surroundings) and toppled a gigantic pyramid of cabbages before turning to see who it was.

Of course, who else could it possibly be but _Slim_?

He did a bit of wandless magic and rearranged the cabbages for me, which was very sweet of him to do since I doubt I could have found my own face with both hands at that point.

He looked really good – loads better than he did the first two times I saw him. Still slightly too thin, which was surprising considering how much food he had piled up in his basket, but with a slight tan and a set of robes with no patches.

I managed a bit of small talk (yay for me!) and noticed that he was carrying the latest issue of _The Quibbler_. He caught me looking at it and blushed a bit. Said he was sending it to a friend who would get a laugh out of one of the articles.

Wanted so badly to ask for his name, but couldn't. Am sure he told it to me that day at the Ministry when my brain fell out of my head but didn't want to look a total prat who can't hold a single thought in her head.

It was really an awkward conversation. I know absolutely nothing about him, so couldn't go beyond the usual "lovely weather, eh?" nonsense. He, on the other hand, asked how I liked my job, if Kingsley was a bear to work with, how were my parents, and so on. Made me laugh out loud when he asked if I had demonstrated any more advanced Defence techniques to total strangers.

May have even snorted at that. Sigh.

After about fifteen minutes of talking (and moving out of the way of surly shoppers – he kept his hand on my shoulder for nearly a minute after steering me away from a wobbly pile of early pumpkins!), he suddenly said he was running late for an appointment and left.

I wandered around the shop for another ten minutes or so, berating myself for not asking his name.

Oh well, if he's turned up unexpectedly twice already, surely it will happen again, right?

Right?

**20:50 **Good thing I picked up those sandwiches. First and second attempts at Indian cuisine were unequivocal failures.

**22:41 **Wait a minute! How did Slim know it was me at Demeter's? That day I saw him at Rosmerta's and the office, I was wearing my face and bright blond braids. Today's look was a completely different face and spiky magenta hair! And he could have only seen me from the back since I didn't see him at all (and believe me, there's no way I would have missed seeing him).

**23:04 **Oh gods, is my arse so big that someone would recognize me from behind?

**23:22 **I think he called me Dora, too! I didn't realise it until just now.

Er, not that I was just sitting here re-running the whole conversation in my head.

And if I _was_ sighing aloud, it was over my inability to act calm and collected when startled. Not because of the memory of any lingering touches or crooked grins. Not at all.

Anyway, Dora? No one's really called me that since I started Hogwarts. Well, my dad still does sometimes and most of our Muggle relatives do. And Mum doesn't use my name unless she's yelling at me and then it's the full "Nymphadora Tonks". Everyone else just calls me Tonks. I've trained them well.

So, who _is_ this guy?


End file.
